Undone
by Rose Rovente
Summary: *COMPLETE* Nothing new, just revised a bit. Mrs. Weasley has had enough. George gets sent away. Rated R for violence, language, and sad stuff.
1. The Last Straw

I'm disclaiming: To Ms. JK and her lawyers... thanks for allowing me to borrow your characters. Don't own them, don't intend to make any money blah blah blah... No need to sue, alright? 

**NOTE FROM AUTHOR: This is going to be amazing.. . are you watching, because something unprecedented is about to happen… Rose is going to admit that she was wrong, and you, the reviewers, were right. YOU WERE RIGHT! Mrs. Weasley wouldn't hit her children, would she? Sorry, it was fun to write. I'm just that way. Anyway, here is a revised Undone. You'll find it isn't much different. The timeline is still screwy and all. Mostly I took of my little comments at the end and cleaned it up a smidge. And, of course, Mrs. Weasley does not strike Fred or George. WAH LAH!!!**

**UNDONE**

CHAPTER ONE 

THE LAST STRAW 

"FREDERICK GEORGE AND GEORGE FREDERICK WEASLEY!" Mrs. Weasley's voice roared throughout the Burrow with such fury that the house's very walls quaked with fear. 

The door separating the kitchen and parlor became very upset and, trembling, slipped quietly off its hinges to take solace behind the sofa. 

The family ghoul bellowed encouragingly from the attic, rattling it's chains in triumph. 

Upstairs, identical faces froze in identical terror, their identical quills dripping fat identical blots of ink on the carpet. 

"YOU BRING YOURSELVES DOWN HERE THIS SECOND!" Came another dangerous maternal roar from the kitchen. 

One twin unfroze and, grinning, gave his brother a knock on the shoulder. "It worked!" 

"But perhaps it wasn't as funny as we'd imagined-" George whispered. 

"Perhaps not-" 

"IF YOUR AREN'T DOWN HERE IN THREE SECONDS I SHALL BEAT ONE OF YOU TO _DEATH_-" Here their mother paused dramatically for emphasis- "AND THE OTHER I SHALL KEEP ALIVE TO SUFFER!" 

The twins gulped, unconsciously grasping one another by the shoulder, their quills and parchment forgotten in a puddle of ink where they knelt between their beds. 

"You know she'll kill _me_," Fred murmured, "she's always favored you." 

"I'M GOING TO COUNT!" 

"So go down there and take what's coming to you!" whispered George frantically. 

"George!" Fred said, too loud.

"I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME UP THERE! ONE!" 

"Oh, don't be a prat. Come on." They stood, seizing handfuls of each other's robes, and crept out of the room.

"TWO!"

Their mother was just finishing her count-down, and had begun her threatening anew when they broke into full speed and ran, gasping, into the kitchen. 

"Yes, mum?" said Fred innocently. 

"Mum?" George squeaked. 

The Weasley family in their entirety was seated around the scrubbed table in silence, food untouched. Bill was staring at his lap, lips pressed together in an effort not to smile, while Charlie closely inspected a burn on his forearm. Their father was hidden behind _The Daily Prophet. _

Their mother stood just inside where the parlor door should have been, beet red, nostrils flaring. Percy was behind her, hands on his hips, a look of disgust on his face. 

"Explain yourselves," Mrs. Weasley hissed.

"Whatever could you mean, mum?" Fred said.

 George groaned.  

Mrs. Weasley pointed a finger, shaking with rage, at a pale Ron. 

He had a runny red liquid pouring in a great stream out of his eyes, nose, mouth and ears. It stained his white shirt and was pooling in his soggy lap. He gazed blankly at the twins, the red stuff trickling from the corners of his eyes like tears.

Fred slapped his hand to his forehead. "Not convincing at all, George! Far too runny. We'll have to-"

"_NOT CONVINCING?" Mrs. Weasley roared.  _

The bellow was loud enough that Fred fell over. George caught him, and they clung to each other as a frightened child will cling to her baby-doll, their eyes reflecting genuine terror. 

"George," said their mother through clenched teeth. "_Explain." _

A pitiful blubbering began to pour from George's mouth. Something about a new candy, excellent little gag for Halloween-

"GAG!" Mrs. Weasley roared. "You thought this would be FUNNY, did you-"

"Really," Percy broke in, "you two should be sent to some Muggle Boot Camp. You little practical jokes are bordering on being very-" 

"-PERCY, SIT DOWN!" Mrs. Weasley roared, and Percy cowered to his seat. 

Bill burst into giggles, catching himself, but not quite fast enough. 

Mrs. Weasley turned to him. "Do you find this funny, William?" 

Bill did his best to cover his smile and shook his head no. 

"Do _you _think this is funny, Charles?"

Charlie, whose shoulders had been shaking, sat up straight and told her no, ma'am, with a serious face. 

"Do _you _think this is funny?" She barked at her twins, gesturing wildly toward Ron. 

Fred hid his face in George's robes, leaving George to fend for himself. "Er, well... not-not anymore." 

He had said the wrong thing. 

"Not anymore? Well let me tell you what _I think. __I think THAT_ I DON'T FIND THIS VERY FUNNY AT ALL!"__

George crashed to the floor as if he had been stuck, taking his brother with him. 

 "I'm certain _Ron _doesn't find it amusing," Mrs. Weasley continued, "How _would you _like it? How _would you _like to be eating supper and have _blood_ pour from every hole in your face?" She stared down at them, her eyes burning, nostrils like gaping black holes. She looked very scary indeed. __

The twins gazed pathetically up at her, blinking madly. 

"WELL?" 

"Er-" George managed. 

"It's only fake blood!" Fred blurted. 

"_ONLY FAKE BLOOD!" Mrs. Weasley shrieked. She dragged the twins off the floor by the scruffs of their robes and threw them toward the back door. They slammed painfully against the wall in a petrified knot of arms and legs. "GET OUT OF MY SIGHT! YOU'LL STAY IN THAT YARD UNTIL I SAY YOU CAN COME IN, AND IF I SEE A SINGLE GNOME IN THAT GARDEN-!" _

The twins fumbled with their body parts, and then with the door knob, and finally disappeared outside. 

Mrs. Weasley sighed deeply and seated herself at the table. Her face returned to its normal hue, but her scowl did not go away. 

"Mum I'm fine-" Ron gurgled. The watery red liquid sprayed like a fountain from his mouth, all over the table and his food. He said no more. The blood dripped off his chin, out his nose, and was still gushing from his ears. 

"Don't speak, Ron," said Ginny, who had little spatters of the stuff on her dress. 

Bill was unable to contain himself any longer. He let a loud laugh escape him and, slamming the table with one fist, covered his face with his other hand, as if trying to force the laugher back in. Charlie joined him, laughing so hard he clutched at his stomach and tears stood in his eyes. 

"Really, you two," clucked Percy. 

The newspaper Mr. Weasley was reading began to tremble, and he pulled it closer to his face to stifle his titters. Mrs. Weasley watched with a tight mouth, shooting them all a warning look which they failed to see in their mirth. 

"Really, it's all right," Ron began again, as the liquid had lessened to a mere drip. He wiped the last of the "blood" from his eyes. "I was just shocked at first..." His last word sent another spray across the table. 

Bill and Charlie had fallen over each other, and were beating one another on the back. 

"IT'S NOT ALRIGHT!" Mrs. Weasley shouted over the noise. The kitchen fell silent. She gave Bill and Charlie an evil eye, and turned to Mr. Weasley. "Those twins are getting out of hand, Arth- Arthur!" 

Mr. Weasley jumped and threw his newspaper aside. "Um- yes, yes dear. Inexcusable." The corners of his mouth were fighting to upturn.

"I've had _enough," she barked, ripping her bread in half as she violently buttered it. "We've grounded them to the house, grounded them to their rooms, we learned __that lesson and grounded them to the Ron's __and Bill's old room, to the closet, to the shed- we've had them scrubbing floors, raking leaves, housetraining the ghoul- we've taken away there wands, their brooms, their quills and parchment-"_

"-If you ask me, a nice long separation would be just what-"

"I _didn't ask you, Percy!" Mrs. Weasley snapped, dropping her knife with a _clang_ on her plate. "Keep quiet." _

Percy withdrew. Bill and Charlie continued to shake silently with laughter.

"_As I was saying_, Arthur, I am at the end of my patience. I am at a _total_ loss for what do with them... besides beat them senseless." Mrs. Weasley harshly stabbed a breast of chicken with her fork. 

"We don't want to do that," said Mr. Weasley, suddenly looking very serious. 

"No," agreed Mrs. Weasley, "But what another choice to they leave me?" 

"They _should _be punished." Mr. Weasley sipped his tea thoughtfully. 

"A fierce beating would be punishment." Charlie pointed out.

"Paddle their bare asses, Mum." Bill agreed, sniggering. 

"ENOUGH!" Mrs. Weasley screamed. "Everyone take your plates to your rooms at once!" 

Her children began to move, yet obviously much too slowly, because Mrs. Weasley stood, brought her foot down hard on the floorboards and wailed, "RIGHT NOW!" 

The three that could Apparate were gone in a flash, and the two that could not scurried out of the kitchen as fast as their legs would carry them (Ron obligingly took his plate, though the food was soggy and red). 

When the kitchen was empty, Mrs. Weasley sat again and turned to her husband, imploring him for a solution. 

"Well-" he began uncertainly. 

"I know what your'e going to say. 'Leave them outside to think about what they did.' Well you know they are. 'Thinking about' and _congratulating themselves on another successful invention-" _

"No dear, I heard them. Fred said it was too runny-" 

"_Arthur…" _

"Sorry, dear." 

 Suddenly Mrs. Weasley's face crumpled. "Arthur, I think they need to be separated." 

"Separated?" 

Outside the back door, with their ears pressed against the wood, Fred and George groaned softly, sinking to the ground. 

"I fear separating them could be unhealthy." 

Silence for a moment. Behind the door the twins nodded furiously in agreement. 

"Why?" Mrs. Weasley finally said, "Be serious, Arthur, it's not as if they share organs. I think it would be good for them. We've treated them like one person their whole lives- their antics are probably a cry for individual attention." 

"Perhaps... but does it make sense that they cry together for individual attention?" Mr. Weasley said.

"_Still_," she retorted irritably, her tears vanishing in an instant, "They can't share a brain forever!" 

Uncle John's would be perfect, she later told George (who had lost the wand toss), because he lived far, far away in some rural area in the States that George had never heard of. Mrs. Weasley had not seen her brother since Ron was born, as she was too busy with six children, then seven, but he'd agreed to take George for the summer and "straighten him out." Fireplaces would be sealed so he and Fred would not be able to meet and "try to pull any funny business." 

He would learn about a different culture and a little something about work. It would be educational and enlightening, she assured him. 

Fred and George discovered that the matter was closed to any sort of: begging, pleading, crying, whining, promises, negotiations, and even go-aheads for the most severe of beatings. No, George couldn't stay in back yard or the linen closet. No, he couldn't stay with Oliver or Lee. No, Mr. Weasley's sister Aunt Wilma lived far too close to the Burrow for him to stay there. No, he could not stay with the Dursleys, even if they would have him. 

And so, after much carrying on, George and his trunk (carefully inspected for tricks or Wizard Wheezes) found themselves in front of the fireplace. 

"What about me?" Fred whined, his eyes slightly red around the rims, "Why don't I get to learn about work and cultures and enlightenment and such?" 

"Hush, Fred," was all Mrs. Weasley said. 

"I'll be so lonely!" George protested. "Spending two months with some old man... think of how my social skills will suffer!" 

"I'm not sending you both, and it's final!" barked Mrs. Weasley. 

In the end his mother had to grab George by his belt loops and throw him into the fireplace, shouting his destination for him. He flew out the other side in a storm of ash and soot, rolling across the floor. His trunk came sliding out of the fire behind him. 

"Goodbye, Georgie!" Fred called from behind the crackling wall of flames. 

The fire gave a final roar and was gone. 


	2. Undone

Disclaimer: Still not paid, still don't sue, k?

CHAPTER TWO

UNDONE

George was in a dining room with yellowing curtains, low ceilings and mountains of clutter. Everything from unwashed dishes, piles of papers, and stacks of empty cigarette packs littered every dull surface in the room, haloed by smelly wisps of stale smoke. 

George became aware others in the room; a large old man with age spots whose sad, crow-footed eyes were studying him.  

"My, Molly must be having quite a time feeding all of ya," he said, hauling George from the floor. "Scrawny thing, you are."

"Not true!" George protested, flexing his arms, "Fred and I made beaters on our school Quidditch team last year." 

"Quidditch," the man spat. "No talk of that in my house." 

"Never took a fancy to it?" 

The man stared at him as if he hadn't spoken at all. 

"Nice to me you, er- Uncle Joe?" George said, realizing he didn't remember the old man's name. 

"You may call me just John."

John hauled George to his feet, where he had a better look at the room. There was a lamp standing in the corner, and it was _on_. He made a mental note to tell his father. His brain was already scheming an escape... he figured his mother had planned ahead and had told John to lock up the Floo Powder... he could tell Mr. Weasley that the house was hooked up with electricity and slip quietly into the fire when his father was ogling the plugs and light fixtures- 

"This is your cousin, Quentin-" John said, pointing at a homely, orange-haired boy, "-and his best friend, Joeb."

George nodded to two boys younger than he, twisting his mouth into a smile. 

Joeb was greasy and looked like he could be a Flint, or maybe a Crabbe. Under an awning of oily black hair, a pair small black eyes set in a thick, protruding brow. Though his mouth hung open stupidly, he seemed to be studying George with serious thought. 

Quentin looked sort of like Ron, and about the same age, only bigger, beaten with an ugly stick, and with twice the freckles. He was smiling, gigantic, blinding, box-shaped teeth gleaming. They reminded George of ice cubes. 

He turned to give Fred a look, and then remembered Fred wasn't there. 

It was an odd feeling, to not have Fred beside him. It was like he'd forgotten to bring something important with him, like his money bag, or his arms and legs. Like he was standing before his Uncle and cousin completely naked. George hated it.

"Can we show George where he's gonna sleep?" Quentin asked in a lazy American accent. 

"When you finish your dinner, Quents," John said fondly, smiling for the first time.

George took a moment to reflect on the hate his mother must feel for him. Why else would she send him here? Perhaps she'd forgotten how repulsive what was left of her side of the family was. Maybe she thought six kids were quite enough.

Quentin and Joeb shoveled the last of the food into their mouths and ran down the hall. 

"Come on, cuz!" Quentin beckoned. 

George dolefully pulled out his wand and was about to lift his trunk with it when John gripped him hard by the shoulder. George cried out in surprise. 

"Don't be a show off," His uncle said, and though George was confused by this, he stuffed his wand back into his robes. "I'll send it in later. Go after your cousin."

George obliged, feeling his stomach tighten. He blinked furiously to hold back burning tears. Seeking sympathy from Fred, he looked woefully over his shoulder… 

But Fred wasn't there. 

Greater sorrows awaited George in the bedroom. He found that he was going to share a narrow bunk bed with Quentin, in a tiny space with one filthy window. It closely resembled the living room, in that garbage and bedroom-appropriate things like dirty socks and underpants were piled in every corner. Quentin and Joeb were sitting among it all, pressing buttons on strange contraptions that were connected to what George recognized as a television. 

"What is that?" George awed.

"It's called a video game, stupid. Got it for Christmas," Quentin said, pressing furiously with his thumbs. 

"Can I give it a try?" 

Quentin regarded him as if he were insane. "Can't you see _we're _playing?"

_So much for hospitality, _George thought. He kicked some underwear out of the way and sat on the floor. After a short while Joeb apparently lost and cursed loudly, throwing his controller at the television. Both boys turned to stare at him. George stared back, for what seemed like many silent minutes.

"Dad says _you've _got a twin brother," Quentin finally said. It sounded almost like a taunt.

"I do," said George, feeling very lonely, "His name's Fred." 

"You look alike?" grunted Joeb in a low, gurgling voice. 

George nodded. "We're identical."

Two pairs of eyes stared densely at him for several seconds. 

Joeb repeated, "Do you look alike?" 

_Ugh,_ George thought, but out loud he said, "Yes, exactly alike." 

Joeb and Quentin nodded in approval. 

"Dad says my Aunt Molly and Uncle Arthur sent you here cause you're good-for-nothing." Quentin said with a smirk. 

"Oh?" A knot formed in George's throat. 

"Yeah," Quentin snorted, and his expression went from a sneer to one of interest, "he said you and your brother got in heaps of trouble." 

George turned to smile mischievously at Fred, but it faded quickly. Fred was still not there. "Yeah, we did. All the time. Had lots of fun, we did." 

"Torture any animals?" Joeb asked excitedly.

"Heard you sent your brother Percy a dragon turd in the mail."

"Do you ever-" 

For the next hour or so George was subjected to an endless stream of questions that grew stupider as they went along (do you reckon you've got look-alike guts?) until George was grinding his teeth so as not to scream. (Is your sister hot?) He made deep grooves in his palms with his fingernails (what about your mom?), so as not to strangle Quentin and or his friend to death, only because if he did, he knew he'd never see Fred again. 

That night George was relieved when Quentin's snores filled the smelly little room. Something gnawed at his belly, and though he felt very stupid for crying, he did. He cried for a long time, knowing it would only be two months, and then he would be with Fred all year, but he cried on. He tried to remind himself that summer always passed in the blink of an eye for them- but it wasn't _them_ anymore, was it? 

He awoke just before the sun had fully risen and turned over to wake Fred, to tell him about the horrible nightmare he'd had and that maybe testing the blood candy on Ron was a bad idea- but instead he fell off of Quentin's top bunk and almost landed on Joeb. He crawled back up and sniffed bitterly, wondering what his twin was doing. 

* * * * *

"He doesn't want to come down, dear," Mr. Weasley was telling Mrs. Weasley as he came into the kitchen, "He says he's not hungry." 

Mrs. Weasley looked up toward the second floor. "Of course he's hungry. He had no breakfast or dinner. Bill, you go talk to him, will you?"

Bill had his nose in the paper. "Let him alone." 

"I _will not _let him sulk all day long. And get your feet off my clean table! Charlie-" 

"I'll have nothing to do with it, mum. I'm here to enjoy my vacation. Let him be upset. I'd be upset." 

"It's only for two months. He's not a baby." Mrs. Weasley began to slice the piece of ham in front of her. "Ron-"

"Are you kidding?" Ron shook his head, "He blames me for everything, and hates me for it."

"Ginny-"

"Oh mum, no! Don't make me do it!" 

"Fredsie darling!" Mrs. Weasley bellowed sweetly. "You'll come down here and eat lunch right now." 

No reply. 

"Sweetie!" she called, "You must eat!" 

Still no reply. 

"I'LL HOME SCHOOL YOU NEXT YEAR!" 

Fred let out a groan and could be heard ambling down the stairs.

He came wearing only a pair of pajama bottoms, his hair sticking straight up. His eyes were red and angry, a scowl fixed on his pale face. He sat hard at the table, crossing his arms over his chest. 

"Haven't forgiven me, I see?" Mrs. Weasley said, clucking as she dumped a slice of ham on his plate. He glowered at it. 

"I feel sick," Fred said, "I've learned my lesson. Can George come back now?" 

Mrs. Weasley laughed and sat down in her place. "I don't think so, young man. You'd be up to your old tricks in less than an hour." 

Fred looked at her with pleading eyes. "Please, mum. We're sorry. We won't-" 

"-stop speaking like that." His mother said, "_You _are not a 'we.'"

Fred was mute for the rest of tea, stared angrily at his plate, and ate nothing. 

* * * * * *

After breakfast the next morning Joeb went home and George and Quentin were sent out to the barn for "morning chores." 

George tried his best not to notice what a lovely morning it was. The sun was creeping up behind the mountains; the birds were singing- the crisp air cleared the grog quickly from his head. The grass was cold but refreshing under his bare feet. 

He was thankful that he was in the middle of nowhere only because he had been presented with a pair of huge overalls to wear, and was feeling ridiculous. They had obviously belonged to John, who was much taller than he, because the straps were so long that the back flap nearly exposed his bottom. He wore a long night shirt under it to cover himself. He could almost hear Fred laughing at him. 

Two cows were mooing idiotically in the barn, idly chewing their cuds. George instantly hated the cows, and the barn, and his Uncle and mother and cousin. When he looked over his shoulder he hated Fred, too. 

Quentin sat a stool next to the fat brown cow. "I'll show you how to do it this time, and you can milk the other cow." He put his hands on the cow's udder and George made a face. 

"You're not going to use magic?" 

Quentin shrugged. "I can't." 

"Why, is it not allowed?" 

Quentin began to milk the cow. "I dunno." 

"What do you mean you don't know?"                                                                   

His cousin shot him a dirty look over his shoulder. "I don't know if it's allowed. No concern of mine." 

George was thoroughly confused for a moment before he realized.At first, he was laughing on the inside. Then he thought of how horrible it would be, and felt kind of sorry for the kid. __

"You're a Squib." He said softly.

Quentin jumped from his stool and was suddenly two inches from George's face, his square white teeth bared. 

"What did you call me?" 

George wasn't frightened, as Quentin was younger and smaller, but he put his hand up and took a step back. "No offense. That's what you- they're called. It's not a bad name." 

"What the hell are you talking about?" Quentin asked, taking a threatening step forward, nose to nose with George again. 

 "You don't know what a..." he trailed off. 

"WHAT?" Quentin demanded. He puffed out his chest and pushed it into George.

"You're not a wizard!" George cried.

Quentin seemed to calm down and backed away. "Oh, finally he speaks English. No, I'm not." 

"Your father is, isn't he?"

"Yeah, but that don't make me one. Now what did you call me?" 

"A Squib," George said, baffled. How could a Squib not know he was a Squib? "All it means is that your parents are wizards and you don't have magical powers." 

"Is that what you call it?" Quentin said casually, his back still toward George, rhythmically milking the cow. "Ha- I thought you were calling me some kind of insulting Brit word." 

George couldn't believe his ears. No wonder they lived way the hell out here. His uncle must have brought Quentin to live away from the magical community so he wouldn't ever have to know how shameful it was. George wondered if it was a noble gesture, or if John was ashamed of having a non-magical son, or both. 

It made him feel different about being there. Here he was, all bent out of shape because he had to be away from his brother for a couple months. At least he wasn't a Squib! 

"Your turn," Quentin said when his bucket was full. He nodded toward the second cow, which was slightly smaller. 

George put the bucket under the animal and thought for a moment. Magically milking a cow was definitely not a subject they'd covered at Hogwarts. He wondered if shrinking the udder to push all the milk out would do the trick. It would, he reckoned, but it would probably hurt the cow. 

Finally settled on his most intelligent extraction spell and pointed his wand at the udder. He hoped silently that he didn't murder the cow, and spoke the words. Milk was flowing into the bucket. 

"Whoa!" Quentin's jaw dropped. "Dad didn't tell me _you _were a wizard!" 

"Yeah-" _Of course I am,_ George almost said, but shut his mouth just in time.

"Is Fred a wizard, too?" 

George nodded again, feeling a sudden cramp all down stomach and chest. He winced. He felt the acute absence of his brother, like an aggressive hunger pang. It was an entirely unpleasant feeling. 

Quentin looked concerned. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," George said, gulping and rubbing his chest, "Just missing my brother." 

"It's not even been a day." Quentin picked up his pail and headed toward the barn door. "Can you show me more magic later? I'd really like to see." 

George regarded him strangely. "Surely you see your father do it all the time?" 

"Nothing more interesting then summoning a beer every now and then," Quentin replied, "He says most of the time it's not necessary. Laziness, he calls it. But I think it's cool." 

George said nothing. As they walked back across the yard, he felt the dewy grass under his feet, the warmth of the sun on his back, and began to feel a little better. 


	3. The Beginning

DISCLAIMER- See chapters one and two. 

CHAPTER THREE

THE BEGINNING

Bill came downstairs and threw up his hands. "He still doesn't feel well, he says. Still has a bellyache, he says. Get the hell out of my room, he says." 

Mrs. Weasley was wiping the table with Ginny behind her, setting out the dishes. "If I have to yell myself hoarse to get him down here for every meal one more time- I'll save myself time and bind him to his chair." 

"That's illegal," Bill said casually, "Can't curse your own son." 

Mrs. Weasley shook her sponge at him. "I'd like to see old Fudge try to tell me how to discipline _my_ children!" 

"Damn straight." Charlie came yawning into the room, shirtless. He waved to everyone with his mouth still wide open, and sat. Ron and Percy had yet to wake. 

Mr. Weasley folded his paper and turned to Bill. "Did he look ill?" 

"Of course not!" Mrs. Weasley said, "He's brooding!" 

"I don't know, mum, he did look kind of weird. Pale." 

Fred stomped into the kitchen just then, pale indeed. He took what had become his usual stance: arms crossed over his chest, slumped, scowling. One hand was absently rubbing his stomach.

"Morning, lovely," Charlie quipped, and he and Bill laughed, though only half-heartedly. 

"What will you have, Fred?" said Mrs. Weasley, approaching the stove.

"Nothing." 

"Yes, you'll have something." 

"I'm not hungry. My stomach is hurting."

"It hurts because you've hardly eaten in two weeks!" His mother's expression softened into worry. "Come now, what will you have, baby?" 

Fred scowled at her. "Has nothing to do with food, unless you count the fact that I'll puke if I eat it." 

Mr. Weasley patted his son on the back. "It's all right, Freds, just go back upstairs and lay down." 

Fred was gone in an instant. Mrs. Weasley shot her husband a look of murder, but said nothing. 

Mr. Weasley seemed not to notice, and said to Bill, "Take him up a plate. See if he won't eat it in his room." 

Bill hurried out before his mother erupted. 

* * * * * *

Maybe his mother had been right.

George was pleasantly surprised to find that he was actually enjoying his stay with John and Quentin. He enjoyed the peacefulness of the country, the moist air, and the quiet of a house with only three occupants. He even decided he liked the cows. And Quentin had taught him how to play video games, which he enjoyed immensely. 

George especially liked Quentin's amazement at his wizardry. No one else had ever been impressed; whatever he learned to do, Percy had already perfected, or it was frowned upon, like his and Fred's trick wands and candies. Doing magic for Quentin made him feel powerful and talented. 

Even his sad-eyed Uncle seemed to have taken a liking, if only a quiet one, to George. 

Two weeks had flown by, and George no longer found himself looking over his shoulder for Fred. The pain of being away from him became less intense. He was confident that he'd make it through the summer, even enjoy it, and was sure Fred was feeling the same way. 

One Saturday it was Quentin's turn to amaze George when he asked him if he wanted to play chess. 

"What's wrong with them?" asked George, poking the black king in the stomach. 

"What do you mean?" Quentin continued to set up the pieces. 

George prodded the bishop, who fell over. George recoiled. "I think your set is dead!"  

Quentin laughed, showing his rows of ice cube shaped teeth. They gleamed so brightly sometimes that George had to squint. "They were never alive, dumbass!" 

"What do you mean?" 

"I _mean they aren't alive," he banged one against the table to demonstrate; "Maybe we shouldn't play. I mean, I don't really feel like teaching you if you've never-" _

"I know how to play chess," George interrupted. He explained Wizard chess to his cousin, who gaped, delighted. 

"You've got to bring me one of those!" 

"Well, I don't know. They probably wouldn't answer to you. They don't like-" George stopped abruptly. 

Quentin looked at him queerly. "Don't like what?"

George was silent. A rush of pity for Quentin came over him. He wished he hadn't said anything. 

"Come on, George. Don't like what?" Quentin repeated darkly, the smile gone from his face. "Tell me." 

"Squibs," said George. 

"Really?" Quentin said thoughtfully, "Do the chess pieces think it's a bad thing?" 

"They only trust wizards." George heard himself say, instantly regretting it. 

"You talk like it's a bad thing or something." 

"Well it is. Er- what I mean is that some people think it is. I mean, not bad, just kind of- well, shameful, I mean because..." _Why don't I shut up? _George bit his lip.

Quentin looked confused. He shut his mouth and the room seemed to dim without the brightness of his huge teeth. "Shameful? Why?" 

"Well, I mean," _Shut up, George! _but he kept speaking, "being a Squib is rather rare, and most of the time the parents can't tell until the kid has already grown old enough to go to school. You don't know how it is because you've been away from it all your life, but it can be awful to find out you can't go to Hogwarts because... I remember when Fred and I were waiting for our letter. It was horrible. Percy gave himself an ulcer the year before, worrying about his, and then our owl was late, and we fretted like mad all day and thought we'd have to go to Muggle school, but then our owl finally came..." he trailed off. His babbling wasn't going to make it any better. 

Quentin didn't seem upset. "I don't understand." 

"Never mind. It really doesn't matter." 

Quentin shrugged it off, and they played chess for hours until dinner. George found it rather fun, without the grumpy chess pieces calling out directions or arguing. 

* * * * * * 

He was curled up on George's bed, staring at the wall. The room was stagnant and rank with unmoving air. It looked empty without George's things. 

Fred didn't look up when Bill came in and set down two plates of food. 

"It stinks like fucking dirty feet in here, Freds," Bill said, grunting as he pried the window open. "When's the last time you opened this?" 

After Bill got no kind of response he said, "You wouldn't think to do it, would you? George seems more like he'd be the air-circulating twin. From the smell he must be the laundry-doing twin as well. Ha ha… come on Fred, it's not that bad. Eat this." 

Then he sat on the bed next to Fred and ate his entire dinner in silence. After awhile, Bill started picking at his brother's plate, too. 

"Fre-der-ick…" Bill sang, waving a fork-stab of food in front of his brother, "it's Yu-um-mee."

"I hate her," Fred said suddenly. 

"You do not, Fredsie. You're mad at her." Bill said, taking another bite. 

"I hate him, too." 

"Who?" 

"George." 

"That's an outright lie. How could you hate your George?" 

Fred buried his face in George's pillow. "I don't know. I hate everyone and everything." 

Bill chuckled, pushing the food around with his fork. "Come now Fredsie, isn't that a little melodramatic?" 

"No." Fred sat up. He had a dull, glassy look in his eyes. They were dark circled. It looked as though even the blue in his eyes were beginning to redden, and Bill felt a little disturbed. 

"Come on, little brother, you did something bad and now you're being punished. Be glad you aren't me. Mom and Dad were super strict with me, being their first child and everything. They would have put me on one of those tours of Azkaban for doing that to Ron." 

Fred didn't seem to hear him. "You know what I think?"

"What do you think?" 

Fred licked his lips. "I think mum regrets having me and George. Me, anyway." 

"Probably," Bill laughed, "She probably regrets having the lot of us at some point every day. Except Percy." 

Fred winced, holding his belly. He lay back down. 

"Are you alright, Freds?" Bill set down his plate. 

"Don't know what's wrong with my stomach." Fred said, shutting his eyes. 

"You need to eat, dummy." 

Fred turned his back on Bill. "Just get out of here. Leave me alone." 

Bill stood. "I was just-"

"JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!" Suddenly Fred was up and pounced on Bill, digging his nails into Bill's forearms. "GET OUT!" 

"Jesus, Fred! I'm leaving!" Bill tried to break free, but Fred wouldn't let go of his arms. 

He backed Bill into the wall and banged him against it with unnatural force, screaming angry gibberish louder and louder all the while. 

Bill was too stunned to fight back. "Fred-" _thud! "Fre-" __thud! "FRED!"_

Fred was red with rage as Bill's head hit the wall, over and over, over and over. Bill felt his skin bunching up and ripping under his brother's fingernails- somewhere near a little girl screamed and a large blur pulled Fred away- the blur was wrestling him to the floor…

 With ringing ears and the most horrible stinging in his arms, Bill slid down the wall where he was. 

"What the hell has gotten into you?" said the angry voice of Charlie. 

Bill's awareness returned and he could see Fred struggling to get free, but Charlie's grip was strong. Downstairs he could hear his mother and father fighting loudly; he saw Ginny crying in the doorway. 

"What's going on?" said Ron, behind Ginny. 

Fred began to fight again and Charlie almost lost him. "LET ME GO! I'M GONNA KILL YOU ALL! YOU FUCKIN-" 

"Bill-" 

Charlie didn't need to finish. Bill had already drawn his wand. Charlie released his hold and Fred fell to the floor, unable to speak or move. His mouth was magically gagged and his arms and legs were bound. 

"Get out, you two," Charlie ordered. Ron and Ginny did as they were told. Charlie knelt over Bill. "Bill? Christ, he drew blood." 

"I'm fine," Bill muttered, breathing hard. He drew up his skinny legs and hugged his knees, looking in awe at Fred. "I'm fine."

Charlie looked back at Fred. "We'll leave him here for awhile, let him calm down. Come on." He helped Bill off the floor, steadying him as he fought a wave of dizziness. "We'll clean you up... find you a long sleeved shirt so mum doesn't ask what happened. We don't want to make her angrier." 

As Charlie led him away, Bill glanced back at Fred, still on the floor fighting the binding spell. His eyes were wild, his face distorted in anger.

 Bill hardly recognized him. 


	4. Joeb and the Storm

DISCLAIMER- Forgive me, JK and her lawyers, for I know not what I do. 

**CHAPTER FOUR**

**JOEB AND THE STORM**

"Can I tell you a secret?" 

"Hmm?" 

George was so full of soda and crisps and candy he could hardly move. They had had quite the little feast. He was lying in a pile of the remains; the wrappers crackled under his head as he turned to Joeb, who stared at him through the dimness of the faded day. No light was coming in through the dirty window, but George could see him perfectly well. 

Joeb's little black eyes peered at him very seriously through the darkness, and with more intelligence, George thought with slight unease, then he had ever seen of him before. 

"Well? What then?" he said when Joeb didn't continue. He then issued a loud belch and sighed with relief. As more space had been made, he reached into an open bag of crisps and shoveled them in his mouth.

"I'm not a Muggle," Joeb finally replied with a mischievous smile. 

George belched again and tossed the food aside. "Yeah? I figured as much. Well- I didn't give it much thought but it doesn't surprise me." He took a healthy slurp of what had become his favorite flavor of Muggle soda. "Maybe I'd be shocked if I wasn't too full to think straight." 

"I'm not allowed to tell _him _that, though," Joeb gestured toward Quentin, who was snoring face down on his bunk, "His dad wants him to think it's something you work for, not something you're born with." 

"That's not good!" George tried to exclaim, but sounded rather indifferent as a result of his gluttony. "What if he decides he wants to grow up to be a wizard? It won't happen." 

Joeb jumped up suddenly and grabbed for his coat. "Let's go have a butterbeer." 

George flew into a sitting position, aluminum cans crunching under his butt. "Where?" 

"Hogsmeade, of course," Joeb smiled wickedly. 

"How?"

"How do you think?" 

"You've got Floo Powder?" 

Joeb nodded, producing a small sack from his shirt pocket. 

"Merlin's Beard! But wait- the fireplace is sealed." 

"Not anymore. I told John my mom needed me so early in the morning that she didn't want to bring the car." 

Hogsmeade. The Three Broomsticks. George's pulse quickened. Back to the land of the living! In a flash he had his head in the closet, rummaging feverously. "Damn it! Gimme a light. I can't see!" 

"I don't have a wand yet," said Joeb, "my folks aren't taking me for another month." 

"I forgot. You're not old enough. Now where in the- Aha!" George stood, brandishing his wand. "Found it!" 

"Let's go!" Joeb was nearly hopping up and down with excitement. 

Quentin gave a loud snort in his sleep and rolled over. George was fastening his cloak around his neck. "Shall we take him with?"

"Christ, no! The old man would murder us!" 

George had to agree. They left the room, creeping quietly past John's door and into the dining room to the fireplace. 

"How did you meet my cousin, anyway?" George asked as he got the fire going. 

"We go to school together. My parents thought it best for me to go to Muggle school till I get to go to _real _school." He emptied half of the little sack's contents into his palm and blew it into the fire. 

"Are you going to Hogwarts?" 

Joeb didn't reply. He rather loudly whispered "Hogsmeade" and hopped in the fireplace. 

Minutes later they were running along the deserted streets of said village. Only a few stranglers were wandering up and down; they took only minimal notice of two under-aged wizards scurrying passed. It had rained recently, and the cobbled streets were damp. When George stopped suddenly, he nearly slipped and fell, but his face was aglow. 

"What is it?" asked Joeb, breathless. 

"My twin! We should sneak to my house and get him." George's limbs began to shake. The thought brought on a painful, bittersweet feeling. He realized he hadn't thought about Fred all day... probably not even the day before... he felt terrible guilt, yet the prospect of seeing his brother again made him happy enough to burst. 

Something unmistakable flashed across Joeb's eyes. It was quick, but George caught it just in time to send a tingle of fear up his neck. 

It was panic. 

"But we're already here," Joeb said quietly. 

"It'll only take a minute!" George pleaded. "We have to!" 

Joeb bit his lip, looking nervously around as if something were going to jump out and get him. 

"No." 

"No?" George shrieked. "Look, I know you don't know what it's like, but-"

"-I feel you, but... think of what your mum will do if you we're caught! She'll make you stay with you uncle forever!" 

There was a long silence. 

"You're right," George admitted sadly. Tears clouded his vision. He felt a great weight in his chest. He wanted more than anything to see Fred again... to talk to him... bear hug him until he was gasping for breath... 

Through the blur of his tears George saw Joeb reach into his jacket- heard him whispering- everything was very bright...

He thought of Fred no more. 

George was gulping warm butterbeer, spitting it across the table because he was laughing hysterically. He choked and felt Joeb beating him on the back. Joeb was laughing, too. 

"What's so funny?" George chortled, taking another swig. 

Joeb raised a thick black eye brow, regarding him strangely. "Are you alright? You seem a little out of it." 

"I feel like I just woke up or something," George raised his bottle and knocked his teeth on the rim as he brought it back to his mouth. 

"Too much to drink, my friend," Joeb said jovially. 

"Tell me about it!" The clicked their bottles together.

The Three Broomsticks wasn't exactly a social hot spot on this Tuesday night, but a few people were scattered around the room, chatting merrily, and music was blaring. George was feeling very good. Sort of grown up, too. His mum would never let him come here alone, especially so late in the evening. He continued to sip his drink, and sat back in his chair, contented.

Almost. 

There was something... something nagging fiercely in the back of his head that refused to show itself. 

George shook it off, downed his butterbeer and called for another, smiling widely at his new friend. 

* * * * * *

Charlie pulled a face as he dabbed at Bill's wounds. "Someone needs to clip that kid's nails." 

Bill did not respond, nor did he jump when Charlie poured a steaming disinfecting concoction on the first of the ten small gashes. He simply stared into space, pale as death. Some of his hair had escaped his ponytail in the fray; it was a fiery halo around his face. 

"Billiam? Hello!" Charlie snapped his fingers in front of his brother's face. Bill turned to him with dead eyes. "Are you sure you're alright? You're shaking." 

Bill nodded. He wiped the away the sweat that was beading on his forehead. "I'll be alright. It was just- you know... shocking. I never thought..." he trailed off and lowered himself onto the bed, shutting his eyes. 

Just then the door swung open and Percy stepped in. "What on earth is going on here? I wake up to pounding and mum and dad are screaming-"

"-come in and shut the door!" Charlie snapped, beginning on the second cut. 

Percy entered, noticed Bill, and gasped. "_What is going on_?" 

"Fred went mad," replied Bill weakly, not opening his eyes. He covered his face with the crook of his arm. 

Percy started back toward the door. "Now this is just too much! I'm going to go tear that boy a new-" 

"-Percy!" Charlie warned, "You're not going to do anything. I'll take care of Fred. You'll only make things worse. You're not to tell mum about any of this either. "

Percy kept his mouth shut. He went to the window and sighed deeply, removing his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. He looked out across the backyard for a long time. Then he sat on the corner of the bed, next to Charlie. He brought his elbows to his knees and spun his glasses idly in his fingers. 

Downstairs, the parents' yelling seemed to be petering off. Now only exhausted moans and frustrated whispers could be heard. 

"Alright, Billy, only seven more to go," said Charlie, to which Bill only grunted, his face still covered. 

Percy sighed again. "Look, Charlie, let me do that. If you're going to take care of Fred, do it now, before the parents stop fighting." 

Fred was no longer struggling. Still bound and gagged, he had curled himself into a fetal position and was crying and writhing and moaning and sobbing. It was a pathetic sight. Charlie knelt beside him, and with a wave of his hand freed Fred's mouth. 

Fred let out a pathetic cry and began to blubber, "oh Charlie it hurts so bad something is wrong it hurts so bad oh Charlie it hurts..." 

Charlie lifted his little brother easily and laid him on George's bed. "Calm down, Freds. Are you going to attack me if I let you go?" 

Fred didn't answer, but it was quite clear that he was in immense pain. As soon as Charlie broke the spell and freed his brother from binds, Fred curled into a ball, clutching madly at his stomach, rocking back and forth on his face and knees. His screams came in gasps, as if he were giving birth. His worked his jaw so hard that Charlie winced at the sound of his teeth grinding together. 

Charlie could only stare, terrified, at a loss for what to do but hold Fred by the waist so he didn't fall off the bed. Fred continued to moan, louder and louder still. He suddenly flipped over onto his back, his arms flailing, nearly knocking Charlie in the face. 

His back arched. 

His eyes flew open and rolled back in his head. 

His shrieks echoed off the walls. "_AHHH __GEORGE HELP ME!" _

Charlie stumbled backward against the door. He fumbled with the knob, screaming for his mum and dad, Percy, Ron, Charlie, anyone-

And then all was silent. 

Fred lay quiet on the bed, gazing at the ceiling. 

Charlie took a step toward him. "Freds?" 

Fred turned to him, the corners of his mouth slightly upturned. He was pale, breathing hard, sweat standing on his face, but he looked so calm... 

"Freds?" repeated Charlie breathlessly, blood pounding in his head. 

"I'm fine now," Fred replied, "I just want to sleep."

He turned over, pulled the blanket over his shoulders, and did just that. 


	5. Broken

Let the record show that I own nothing to do with _Harry Potter and the Order of the Sorcerer's Phoenix Chamber in the Philosopher's Goblet of Azkaban_, though with much dismay I _can _claim stupid, ugly, mean old Joeb and his homely sidekick Quentin, who pale in comparison to anything Our Goddess Rowlings has created... anyway... 

**CHAPTER FIVE**

**BROKEN**

"He'll adjust," Mrs. Weasley insisted, "I never thought it would be easy for either of them." 

Charlie let out an exasperated huff. "Something was wrong with him, mum. Seriously wrong. If you just could have seen-" 

"- he seems to be back to normal now." 

"Good God, mother! Normal? Do you even remember what Fred and George used to be like? I wouldn't call depressed and moody normal for _Fred_!" 

"You know what I mean, Charles. If I let George come back he will have learned nothing, except that he can get his way by acting out."

"Mum, I understand that you feel trapped in the decision you made, but-" 

"This conversation is over, Charles." 

"He wasn't just acting out, mum! Didn't you hear him screaming? Like someone was bloody tearing him in half-" 

"I _said,_" she interrupted, "that this conversation is _over._"

So it was. Charlie stared at his mother for a long time, watching her knit and rock in her chair in the parlor, pretending like he'd already left the room. He gripped the sides of his own chair with white knuckles and thrust himself out of it. He left the room, anger a burning lump in his middle.

He longed more than anything to go back to Romania; to cut his vacation off early and just go back to work. He also knew he couldn't, for two reasons. He felt he'd be so distracted by everything at home that a dragon would melt him to a seared blob of flesh within minutes of his arrival. Secondly, for his family.

His mother and father could not speak without fighting. In these last two days, Ron had been wandering around the house like a ghost. Percy suddenly had mountains of summer homework and had all but packed up his things and moved into the library. Bill had always seemed to make it a goal to eat his weight in food each day, but now, though the food covered an impressive distance back and forth across his plate, it never reached his mouth. At times, he was jumpy and nervous around Fred, at others, blank and sweaty and unaware of anything going on around him. 

And Fred, well, as for Fred... his bright-eyed, laughing twin brothers had become one sallow, dull eyed boy. He never stopped glowering and walked with a permanent hunch. He snapped and grumbled when spoken to, and ate grudgingly, casting dangerous looks at Charlie. 

The tension hung in the house like wet clothes on cold shoulders. Happiness was to be found nowhere but in the attic, where the family ghoul was living in such ecstasy that Charlie swore he was learning to tap dance up there. It had wailed ghoulish show-tunes all the night before, and all morning, so it was fast becoming normal background noise. 

Maybe it was he that was going insane, Charlie thought of himself. Maybe the pain etched in Fred's gray face had been merely the creations of his own imbalanced conscious. He would never have thought this if it weren't for the fact that no one had heard.

No one.

He had stood and watched his little brother sleep for several minutes. Fred's cheeks had been pink and healthy; his chest rising and falling at regular intervals, and not one of their family members had come to check on them. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had fought on. Ron had continued writing a letter to Harry without looking up from his parchment. Percy kept right on dressing Bill's wounds, though they were right across the hall. Ginny, weeping in the bathroom adjacent, claimed to hear nothing. 

It was like it had never happened. 

Charlie was willing to accept that it hadn't. If Fred had awoken smiling, Charlie would have embraced the belief that it was merely his own sick brain, creating images for itself to feed and grow sicker on.

But Fred had awoken yellow and scowling and _mean. _

So Charlie knew he had to stay. He had to take it upon himself to be the sanity of the family, as he was the only one who wasn't in denial, or delusional, or corpse-like, or weepy or gone or fighting with his spouse. 

The only thing that kept him going was dreaming about leaving, as soon as the summer was over. He held onto this thought as he knocked in vain on Fred's door. He hadn't expected an answer, nor did he wait for one before going inside. 

Fred looked so normal, lying there asleep on his stomach, his mouth wide open and squished up against the bed. A small puddle of drool had formed on the sheet near the corner of his mouth. One arm dangled nearly to the floor, and the other was sprawled out behind him. Charlie felt his chest tighten. How he wished everything _was _normal. How he wished there were another boy, an exact image of the first, sleeping just as peacefully in the next bed. 

"Fredsie," he whispered. 

"Let me wake..." Fred mumbled, rolling onto his back. 

"Freds..."

"leave us alone..." 

"Fredsie, time to get up." 

"it's mine... please let me wake..." 

"Fred! Time for breakfast!" Charlie put his foot on the bed and shook it. 

Fred's eyes fluttered open, still rolled back in his head. They struggled into focus to gaze at Charlie, and then his face crumpled. He looked as though he might cry, and reaching up to take Charlie's wrist, opened his mouth as if to speak. Then, with some effort, his expression twisted into a frown. 

His brow furrowed in anger. "Why do you wake me?" 

"It's time to eat. And we _are not _arguing about it this time."

Charlie hauled him out of bed. 

"There would be no argument if the woman could cook a decent meal," Fred spat. 

Charlie responded only by tightening his grip around the scruff of his brother's neck and forcing him to walk faster. He didn't let go until he'd deposited Fred in his chair. He then took his new place at the table, in George's seat, between Fred and Bill. 

Breakfast was silent and tense. Percy had already got up and left the house. Mr. Weasley ate around his _Daily Prophet_, paying no mind when bits of food fell off his fork and onto the tablecloth. Bill appeared to be sculpting his likeness in his scrambled eggs. Ron had his head resting on the table, his mouth around the rim of the plate, dumping food in and letting it sit there, not really bothering to chew or swallow, just staring off into space. Ginny looked around at all of them, from one to the other, and wept silently. 

"Morning, all," said Charlie flatly. Only Ron bothered to grunt in response, or perhaps was just gulping his food. 

For ten minutes the clinking of silverware was all that could be heard. 

Then a louder _clang._

Mrs. Weasley's knife had hit her plate.

Bill jumped. 

"Fine," she said. "Fine." 

The family stared at her. 

"I've- I've punished you long enough, Fred," she said, averting her eyes. Fred stared angrily at her, hunched over his plate. "I'll Floo John and tell him to send George back today." 

There was a collective sigh of relief. Ron sat straight up, food dribbling from his gaping smile. Their father abandoned his newspaper. Ginny let out a squeak of joy. 

But Fred's brooding expression did not change. 

"Did you here?" said Charlie, nudging his side. "You get your George back today!" 

Fred's face grew darker. Everyone was very quiet, staring at him. Bill twirled his hair nervously around his finger. 

"Fred?" Charlie said again. 

"Fuck George," Fred said quietly, contempt dripping from his voice.

"Excuse me young man?" Mr. Weasley said. 

Fred did not meet his gaze. Instead he looked at his mother, his eyes wild and shiny. There was a bewildering mix of panic and anger in them, something impenetrable and out of control that might peak at any moment. 

"You think you can bring back George now and make it all better?" He said. "Is that what you think? You stupid, _stupid bitch." _

"FREDERICK!" Mr. Weasley roared. "You _do not speak to your mother like that!" _

Fred stood suddenly, overturning his chair. "FUCK GEORGE! FUCK MY TWIN!" 

He clutched his plate and flung his plate across the table, narrowly missing Ron's head. The Weasleys watched in shock as Fred grabbed Charlie's plate, hurling it in the opposite direction. A spray of food and broken glass splattered across the cabinets and floor. He had picked up Bill's plate and was preparing to throw it when Charlie snapped to attention and grabbed Fred around the chest, pinning his arms to his side. Fred continued to cuss and scream, spittle flying from his lips. 

"Fools, all of you! You think George will make it all better now? Too late! _Too late_!" 

* * * * * * 

"Why do we always have to play this way?" Joeb whined. "I don't never get to play! You're both too good!" 

Quentin laughed smugly and then groaned as his character was nearly killed by a several more ninjas, who'd jumped out from behind a tree. "Sorry, Joeb. House rules. Third person plays only when one of us dies-" 

"-Quents! Pay attention- oh shit!" Georges pressed harder on his controller, though he knew it wouldn't help and could feel blisters forming on his thumbs. 

"Damn it! Well, you got your wish." Quentin stomped his foot and threw his controller at Joeb. 

Joeb smiled his Neanderthal smile. "Finally. Hey Georgie, let's fight in Times Square. I haven't seen that backdrop yet."

George felt a cramp in his chest. "Please don't call me that." 

"Call you what?" 

"Only my twin calls me Georgie." 

"Jeez, do you ever get bent out of shape about him. It's like you're in love or something," commented Quentin rather flatly, staring at the game screen and not at George. 

"_Oh my wonderful twin," Joeb mocked, "__Gosh without him I would just die-"_

"Don't either of you have a brother or a best friend?" George growled. 

Quentin looked sorry he'd said anything. The homely boy worked his mouth helplessly at his cousin. "I- I- didn't say it to get you all... mad at me." 

"Give 'em a big smile, Quents," said Joeb, demonstrating, "That'll make him feel better." 

Quentin looked thoroughly confused. He looked back and forth between Joeb's yellowing, snaggle-toothed beam and George's furious glare. Joeb nodded encouragingly. Sarcastically, Quentin spread his mouth into a wide smile and aimed it at George.

George squinted and the whiteness of Quentin's enormous teeth, and had barely opened his mouth to tell both of them off before he felt the anger draining out of him. He felt his head get a little swimmy. His image of Fred, pounding in his head like a migraine, began to fade to just a happy memory. 

He would survive. Only another month and week, and he would see Fred again. That wasn't so long- it was no time at all- 

"Can we play now?" said Joeb impatiently. "Like I was saying, we should-"

"John!" The three jumped when they heard an unfamiliar voice float in from the dining room

_I know that voice, _George thought.

"John! Where are you? It's an emergency!" 

_Dad, _George thought. "Dad!" 

The three of them ran into the dining room to see Mr. Weasley's head in the fire. 

"Dad!" George exclaimed, throwing himself down on his knees in front of him. "Alright, dad?" 

Mr. Weasley looked very pale. "You've got to come home immediately, son." 

"Why?" George thought he'd feel happy to hear those words, but he wasn't. He turned to Quentin and Joeb, who shrugged. "But I'm having fun, dad. It's not half as bad as I-" 

"-Something is wrong with your brother," Mr. Weasley said urgently. "I need you come home at once." 

"With Fred?" George felt blood rush to his head. "What's wrong with him?" 

"Get home, now!" With that Mr. Weasley's head was gone. 

George watched the flames for a moment, his head surprisingly void of all thoughts. "I guess I have to go now." 

"No time for a lengthy goodbye, George. You can come back and visit." John said, patting him on the shoulder. "Through the fire with you." 

* * * * * * 

George stepped through the fire and gasped at what he saw. Charlie, bleeding from his nose, was on top of Fred on the floor. Fred was kicking and cursing and screaming, bleeding and cutting himself further on broken glass that lay scattered everywhere. His shirt had been ripped off and lay entangled a few feet away with both of their wands. The dining room table had been completely overturned. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were shouting spells at Ron, who lay lifeless on the floor. Bill, looking very thin and exhausted, was holding Ginny in the corner near where Ron was laying. She was sobbing into his chest. 

"FUCK YOU! YOU'RE ALL GOING TO BE SORRY! FUCK MY TWIN!" Fred was screaming, his face twisted with madness. "GEROFF ME!" 

"What is going on?" George moaned. 

"Bind him, Charlie! What are you thinking?" cried Bill. 

"Tried- it- won't- work-" Charlie grunted as he struggled. 

George watched his twin claw at Charlie, making long red marks down his cheeks. Charlie barely acknowledge his own pain when Fred ran his fingernails down his arms, reopening calmed burn-blisters and disturbing the tender, healing skin. 

George ran to them.

"Charlie, get off! Let me take care of him." 

Charlie moved away, leaving Fred panting on the floor. Fred stumbled to his knees, blood streaming down his chest, and saw George. His face changed. He stopped screaming, fell into George's arms and began to wail. 

His father and mother took no notice, still begging Ron to move. 

"What happened?" George said, feeling his twin shake violently with muffled sobs. He rocked Fred back and forth, rubbing his back. 

Charlie, still catching his breath, threw up his hands. "I don't know. Since you left he's been completely insane." 

"What did... he do... to Ron?" George gasped, as Fred kept tightening his grip around him. 

"Dunno. Put some sort of curse on him." 

George pushed Fred away, taking him by the chin and looking into his wet, bloody, swollen face. His eyes were closed. "What did you do?" 

Fred whimpered, then began to chuckle through his tears, emerging as a miserably joyful gurgle. 

"What did you do?" George asked again, louder. Fred tried collapse against him again, but George held him up.

"help, Georgie," whispered Fred drunkenly. He seemed to be struggling to get the words out, "it- it- grows- s- s-stronger-"

"_FRED WHAT DID YOU DO?" George shook his brother violently, and Fred did not resist. His head snapped back and forth as if on a hinge. George slapped him and felt the burning on his own cheek; Fred only hung his head, his moist eyes puffy and closed. George gave him one final shake and allowed him to tumble backward onto the floor. His head hit the tiles with a dull thud and he lay staring at the ceiling. . _

George's head began to spin. He looked down at the bleeding body on the floor, the body that was still mumbling non-English, and did not see his twin brother; he saw only a person who'd torn him away from peace and quiet and forced him to be in the middle of all this trouble that _he'd _created-

_Fred would never do this to me, _George thought. 

Bill gently pushed Ginny aside and began to cough like he might throw a lung. Amidst all the confusion and noise George thought his head would burst. His teeth threatened to break under the pressure with which he clenched them

Near where he stood his mother began to screech. His father moaned in anguish. They shook Ron as George had shook Fred moments before, and Ron's head lolled sickeningly on his shoulders. 

"Is he dead?" Charlie cried. "Has he died?"

Bill could not stop coughing. Ginny beat him on the back in vain. 

"He breaths," choked Mr. Weasley. "Barely."

George looked down at his hands and saw them stained with blood. 

Fred's blood.

George rubbed his face and eyes, feeling them burn with his twin's blood- his cheeks were sticky with it- it was caked in his hair-

George dropped to his knees beside Fred, lifting his head with his hands. 

"Oh Fred..." he moaned bitterly, "What did you do?" 

Fred's lids fluttered open. 

They stared into each other's eyes. 

George screamed and left go of Fred's head. 

He fell backward and crawled away. "I have to get out of here!"

Charlie caught him just as he was about to enter the fireplace. "You aren't going anywhere!" His grip was like a clamp on George's shoulder. "You're the only one who can keep him under control." 

_"CHARLIE THAT IS NOT MY BROTHER!" _

"What in Merlin's Beard are we going to do?" Mrs. Weasley wailed, raising her face to the heavens, "What has become of this family?" 

Bill coughed on. 

"We need to contact St. Mungo's- no, we should contact Madam Pomfrey, for all three of them," said Charlie. 

"LET GO OF ME!" George struggled with all his might, to no avail. "_THAT IS NOT FRED_!" 

"What _bullshit _are you talking!" Charlie roared at George. He had gone blue with rage. "Of course it's Fred. Look!" He took George by the back of the head and forced him to look down at the bleeding boy. At the moment Fred was looking a little dazed and rather amused by all of the commotion. "Look, look, look here- it's Fred, alright? It's your Fred. Here's your Fred, George!

George burst into tears, madly shaking his head. "I know it is, but it's not... it's not... there's-" 

"Stop this madness!" Charlie howled, close to tears himself, "LOOK AT HIM, GEORGE! It's your brother. Your identical twin brother, right there! Can't we all just be _happy _now?" 

George could only blubber and sob and shake his head no.

Bill continued hacking. Ginny backed away from him.

"I don't know how to get a hold of Madam Pomfrey during the summer months! An owl would take too long!" said Mr. Weasley powerlessly. 

He held his baby boy helplessly in his arms, turning this way and that, and did not know what to do or where to take him. 

"We'll go to Dumbledore and tell him- Bill will you _SHUT UP_!" 

Charlie stopped himself just in time from lunging at his older brother. Bill buried his face in his sleeve, looking terribly small and vulnerable, and could not stop. Charlie released his grip on George and rubbed his temples, at the same time shaking his head with shame. 

"I'm sorry, Bill-" 

He stopped dead. 

He cursed loudly, nearly breaking his fist against the bricks of the fireplace.

George had disappeared into the waiting fire, and so desperate was he to get away that he forgot to call out a location.

His twin threw back his head, and, laughing triumphantly, vanished into thin air with a small _pop!_


	6. Fog

God grant me the serenity to acknowledge the fact that I am not Ms. Rowlings, the courage to beseech her lawyers not to sue me, and the wisdom to know the difference. (Of what, you ask? I don't know, it's just something they say at AA meetings, except I changed it around a bit. No, I'm not an alcoholic, but let's not get into that... argghh just go on and read, before I start telling you my life story...)

**CHAPTER SIX**

**FOG**

Grates, parlors, kitchens, studies flashing by- he knew he had to get out soon, before he ended up somewhere in China- but everything was undulating, twisting, distorting so badly- not just physically but in his blood, head, and heart- 

He heard someone scream his name- felt hands on his shoulders-

He landed, hard, on a freezing stone floor, and the hands were gone. A throbbing spread little by little over his head. The spinning would not stop. Soot stung his eyes. He could feel the black grains in his nose, in his throat... a nauseating paste on his tongue...

_Oh Fred..._

George retched and vomited, feeling the sticky warmth of the rancid liquid seeping down his front, and all was dark. 

_Warm. _

_Familiar. _

_Nothing spun, only drifted somehow... serenely, peacefully. He found he was surrounded by blankets and pillows. He pushed his face into the cotton, smelt the cloth, and recognized the scent as his own. _

_Home._

_ A misty fog had fallen over the room. Everything was in shades of gray, black, and white. It was too thick and hazy to see anything clearly; he saw only the soft shadows of his bedroom furniture, and the dark mound of Fred's and his laundry pile, spilling forth from the closet. _

_Yet the vision of Fred, asleep in the bed next to his, was in full color, crisp and clear as day. _

_"Fredsie!" squealed George. His voice, though he thought he'd used to its full capacity just then, came out as an echoing whisper. _

_He shook off his blankets and dove into the bed of his brother. He landed softly beside him. His feet had not needed to touch the ground. _

_Fred opened his eyes and smiled. George was overjoyed to see that there was only his brother in those eyes. _

_Nothing else. _

_Only Fred. _

_George rolled over on his back, and they lay side to side, heads together, gazing at the ceiling. George felt Fred's hand, warm and comforting, on his forearm, but his heart felt very heavy. It was drifting up toward his throat, lodging itself there, threatening to suffocate him. _

_"I've missed you," George choked._

_"Finally you come, shithead." Fred's voice was dreamy... far away. _

_"I feel weird." _

_"You are weird. And ugly, too." _

_"Ha. Boy, are you getting rusty, Freds," George heard himself saying, "Our fears are confirmed: you're not funny at all without me."_

_Fred shrugged. "I tried." _

_They embraced. _

_"I haven't gone anywhere," said Fred, squeezing George's arm. "I thought sure you'd find me here sooner." _

_"What do you mean?" _

_"I want you to know that I don't blame you. I'll never blame you, whatever happens, Georgie. I don't know what it was like for you- but I know they didn't give you a chance. You didn't know what they were doing... there was no way for you to know... you couldn't have done anything-" _

_"What do you mean?" George sat up and gazed down at his twin, who didn't let go of his arm, but tightened his hold. _

_Fred seemed to be blurring; fading into his surroundings. _

_"You should have listened for my voice, George. I needed your help-" His voice cracked. Hazy tears floated down his cheeks. "-I needed you... you're the only one who could have heard me. If only you had listened a little harder... maybe something could have be done... maybe it still can..."_

_"What are you talking about?" George's own tears flowed. His body shook. _

_"I don't have time to explain," said Fred sadly, shaking his head, "Just don't look at his mouth, George." _

_Though Fred wasn't moving- he was just laying there, staring up at the ceiling- George was getting a frightening sense of him drifting away. Going farther and farther away- _

_"Who's mouth? Fred! Where are you going?" _

_Fred turned on his side. The colors of his robes bled into the grayness behind him, lingering there as if they'd been water-colored. He took George's other arm, and though his body was melting into the background, fear was crisp in his eyes_

_"Don't look at it, Georgie. I don't know his name. All I know is what I hear. Maybe- maybe I can hold on just a little longer if you don't look... but remember it's not his fault, Georgie. He doesn't know." _

_"Fred! What are you talking about?" cried George desperately, "I don't understand!" _

_"He would have found another way. Don't blame him, or yourself." _

_"FRED I DON'T UNDERSTAND!" _

_"Neither do I, George. Not really." Fred shut his eyes. The tears drifted down, taking with them the color and form of his face and eyes. "I'm glad you finally found me- even if does turn out to be too late." _

_"Fred..." George whimpered. _

_"I'll try to find some way..." _

_George could no longer make out his brother's face. He had become a fuzzy shadow, like everything else; he was just a dark smudge on the bed. _

_He looked down at his own body and saw that he had become the same. _

George screamed, but could not find the strength to sit up. 

"Mom! He's awake!" A voice called. 

He opened his eyes. His head ached. The sharp lines of reality were all around him. He saw that the room was not his. It was large, round, and black from floor to ceiling. He looked blearily around and saw Joeb, standing at his left.

"Hiya, George!" he said, "Finally! You've been sleeping nearly six hours." 

"Where am I?" asked George weakly. He seemed to be falling deeper and deeper into unshakable grog instead of coming out of it. His head was swam and spun.

A great black door swung open, and a large woman with gaudy makeup, a uni-brow, and elaborately sewn purple robes came bustling in. 

"Hello, my darling, I'm Joeb's mother!" she squealed at George, "Glad to see you're awake. My, were you ill!" 

"You puked everywhere in your sleep!" exclaimed Joeb excitedly, "It was wicked!" 

"Joeb, be still, honey." 

"We think it was because you knocked yourself a _huge_ bump coming out of the fireplace!" 

"Where am I?" George repeated. He felt his forehead, and yes, there was a huge, tender lump growing atop it. 

"Why, our home, of course." replied Joeb's mother. She took George's hand in her enormous paw and shook it, "It's a shame for us to meet like this, but please, call me Madam Malica." 

Joeb was all but bouncing off the walls. He charged forward and plopped himself on the corner of the bed, coming too close for comfort to George. "And guess what I found out! Just like I go school with your cousin, you go to school with mine, all the way across the ocean and most of a country! Isn't that funny? His name's Gregory, do you know him?" 

"Maybe," George's head pounded. He wished they'd go away. He was in no mood for chitting and chatting. He mind lingered on what had happened earlier, and his strange dream- he couldn't process any of that at the moment, and Joeb's not-so-coincidental coincidence with his stupid cousin (there weren't that many wizarding schools around) was just one more thing. 

"Small world, isn't it?" Madam Malica chirped. 

"Yeah," he replied flatly. "How did I get here?" 

"Joeb was _so _worried!" his mother explained extravagantly, "He came right home and told me what had happened." 

Joeb was chuckling as he told George, "we were Flooing you, to see if everything was okay with your brother, and you fell right out of the fireplace and bashed your head." 

George was so muddled that he could not at this point remember exactly what had happened, but something still bothered him about the statement. 

"I need to go back home," he told them.

Madam Malica's smile faltered. "But sweetie, you've just left there!" 

"I shouldn't have," George mumbled, his eyes closed, "I need to go back. I need to take care of my twin. He's very sick." 

"Oh, he's more than just sick, darling." 

"Excuse me?" George sat straight up, then nearly fainted as rush of pain shot through every part of his skull. Somehow he managed to stay upright, but saw six of Joeb's ugly mother, spinning round and round in a circle. 

"I'm afraid I can't let you go anywhere, darling," said the six of her. 

"What?" George tried to get out of bed, but the more he struggled the more the blankets seemed to tangle around him.

"Not until it's time."

"What the hell-" he yelped, "time for what?" 

The sheets twisted themselves around his arms and chest, pulling him back down and holding him firmly in place. 

Joeb broke into a jagged yellow grin. "It's a surprise."


	7. The Surprise

DISCLAIM DISCLAIM DISCLAIM DISCLAAAAAAAAAAAAIM- YEAH! 

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

**THE SURPRISE**

Mr. Weasley nearly dropped his youngest son as he brought his hand to his mouth. If his wife hadn't caught the upper half of Ron's body, he might have crashed to the floor. 

Bill's coughing ceased at once. His eyes were wide. He appeared to be going into another daze; his face gleaming with moisture, his tongue between his teeth. He slunk down in the corner with his chin to his chest; legs sprawled out in front of him. He hardly moved his jaw when he muttered, "He- he can't do that, Charlie. He's too young." 

For a moment they stood in a semi-circle, stunned and silent.

Ginny let out a cry and ran to Charlie. He held her close with one hand, staring numbly at the knuckles of the other. It was a blackish-red mound of skin and clotting blood. He wiped his freely bleeding nose on his sleeve.

Mrs. Weasley's mouth opened and closed several times, but no sound emerged. 

"Charlie-"

"-I know, Bill."

"So how-"

"I don't know!" Charlie snapped, "Get off the floor, why don't you, and help me figure it out?" 

"You need to take care of your hand, dear," his mother told him quietly. 

"I'll lay Ron down." said Mr. Weasley vacantly, leaving the room. 

"Let me-"

"I'm fine, ma." 

"Can you move your fingers? Let me see, baby..."

Charlie avoided her. "I can move my fingers, mum."

"He doesn't know how to Apparate, Charlie. He's too young."

"Christ Bill, I know! You needn't repeat yourself like a goddamn lunatic!"

"Now don't you two start!" Ginny wailed. 

Mrs. Weasley took her daughter's hand and led her into the parlor, leaving Charlie and Bill to stare at one another. They each allowed themselves a few breaths and a moment to gather their thoughts- or at least Charlie did. Bill's pupils grew larger, as did the beads of perspiration on his forehead. One arm fell from his chest to the floor. 

"Bill?" 

"Hmm..." Bill blinked, and with some effort, turned his eyes to gaze fixedly on his brother. 

"I need you to be coherent."

"I'm coherent."

"I need you to be sane."

"I'm mostly sane."

"_Mostly_," Charlie spat.. 

"I should show you my arms." 

"Your arms?" 

"I think Percy messed them up." 

"You think Percy messed them up." he repeated. "Bill, we can't worry about that right now. I need you to go to the library and find him. Tell him to come back here and-"

Charlie stopped dead as Bill rolled up the sleeve of his thermal shirt. From beneath the bandages shone a soft orange glow. It faded quickly in and out and in and out again, blinking, as if Bill was concealing a traffic light in his forearm. 

"Stop." Charlie said as Bill started to unwrap the gauze. "I don't want to see. I mean I can see- I mean- _what the hell is that_?

They stood dazed in the light pouring from Bill's arm from the ten jagged, winking wounds. 

"Does it hurt?" 

Bill nodded. "A little more everyday." He began wrapped it back up. 

"_Why didn't you say anything_?" Charlie began to pace back and forth, holding his pulpy knuckle close to his stomach. Blood spattered in irregular little specks on his shoes and the floor. 

"I shouldn't tell you. You wouldn't understand." He replaced his sleeve over the bandage.

"Bill, don't you start talking nonsense. Sane and coherent, remember?" 

"It's _not_ sane or coherent."

Charlie stopped pacing and closed his eyes, drawing in a sharp breath. He did not know how much more he could stand, from anyone. Getting burned and melted by a dragon until he was dead was beginning to sound more and more appealing. 

"Good god, Bill, just _tell me_."

"I like it." Bill averted his eyes; they seemed to go out of focus again. He slumped down a little farther in the corner. 

"You like what?" Charlie said quietly, with his last ounce of self- control, "The pain? You like the pain?"

Bill nodded. 

Charlie began to pace again. "I'm going to steer clear of this one. So you're a masochist. Good for you. I still need you fetch Percy and tell him-"

"-it's not like that." Bill said. 

Another sharp inhale from Charlie. Urgency was thick in his voice. "Bill, _we have to find the twins. _We can call in all the experts we want, but chances are we're not going to be able to do anything until we find out what the hell Fred did. I need you to help me. I need you to go and fetch Percy-"

"-I can't be trusted, Charlie." 

There was a dreadful silence, in which Charlie stared down at his brother, appalled, nostrils flaring, scarlet creeping into his cheeks and spreading across his face. He was nearly hyperventilating; his chest rose and fell so hard that his sternum was nearly colliding with his chin. 

"Fred's just a kid," said Bill, "He's not capable of all these things. Something- something's gotten into him, and a little bit of it- I can feel it seeping into me. It burns, Charlie, but it feels so good... I've been thinking some really bad shit, Charlie, _really _horrible shit, and I want to do them so badly, and another part of me says no and it's like my brain shuts itself off - but the burning, not just in my arms- all over- it burns worse all the time but it feels-"

"-STOP IT!" Charlie screamed, "Stop it right now! I refuse to listen to this!" 

He seized the Floo Powder and lit a fire. In his anger he forgot to use his wand, and the huge ball of flame that shot out of his hand singed the piles of books on the mantle.

"Fine then, you go ahead and sit here and go bloody fucking insane like everyone else," he snarled, "But you're a grown man, Bill, and if you try and pull any of the shit Fred has, I won't even bother to restrain you. I'll toss you to a Dementor, and your ass can rot in Azkaban until the return of Grindelwald!" 

"Where are you going?" 

Charlie ignored him and stormed into the parlor. His father was scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment, Hermes hooting encouragingly on his shoulder. His mother was knelt before the fire with her head in the flames. Ginny was sitting on the floor next to the sofa, whispering to Ron's lifeless body. 

"We're getting help," said Mr. Weasley hopefully, "It'll soon be on its way."

"Good. I'll be back soon. I'm off to tell work I'll need my vacation extended," he lied. 

His father nodded, and Charlie returned to the kitchen. 

Bill hadn't moved. He didn't seem to notice that there was someone else in the room as Charlie prepared to leave. 

"I'm going to search the entire Network until I find the pair of them," Charlie stated, to which Bill did not respond. "Impossible, probably. But I've got to do _something_." 

Silence. 

"I could use your help." 

No response. 

Before Charlie stepped in the fire, he noticed for the first time the old family clock. The arrows reading _Fred _and _George _indicated that they were _in mortal peril_. 

The hand reading _Charlie _was edging slowly in that direction. 

He cast one more disgusted look at Bill and, taking a deep breath and grinding his teeth, went forth into the flames.

* * * * * * 

George had no idea how long he'd been trapped in the bed; long enough to need to use the bathroom, long enough to piss in his pants, long enough for the bedding to magically dry him and itself- long enough that he had to pee again... but the windowless black room gave no hint in reference to time. 

He had fought until he was gasping, and screamed himself hoarse. Occasionally he'd attempt to leap up, hoping to catch the blankets off guard, but as inanimate objects, they had far more patience than he. The slightest movement would make them stiffen and tighten. 

Several times a servant had come in to change the icepack on his head. George had begged and pleaded and bargained with her, but it was like she was deaf. 

And so he was just lying there, drained completely, when the door swung open again. He didn't look when he heard footsteps coming toward the bed, just turned his head and let the ice pack slide off, pleased at the way the blankets recoiled at its coldness and threw it from the bed. 

"George!" 

It was Quentin. 

"Hi George!" 

George stared at the wall. 

"They sent me in to make you feel better, George," Quentin said a little sadly. "They said you're upset. So guess what!" 

George stared at the wall. 

"George? Guess what?" 

George blinked. 

"George! _Guess what_!" 

"WHAT?" he roared. 

"Dad says I'm going to be a wizard soon, too! I'll be able to do magic, just like you. It'll be so much fun, George. We'll be able to do spells together, and _you _can teach _me _to milk a cow-"

"-he's lying, Quentin." George said gently, "You'll never be able to do magic." 

There was a pause. 

"Yes, I will," said Quentin, "My dad would never lie to me. He says I won't even have to work at it. He says I'll be normal. Look at me, George."

George shut his eyes tight and shook his head. 

"You'll see, George. You'll see. I bet I'll even be better than you. Won't you look at me?" 

George examined the ceiling. 

"George, come on! Be happy for me! Look at me! Be happy!" The boy pleaded. 

George sighed and turned his head to look at Quentin. He looked ridiculous, dressed in lime green robes that clashed horribly with his orange hair. 

Quentin beamed at him.

Maybe he didn't look so bad. Maybe he _could _learn to be a wizard. After all, George thought, what did he know about Squibs? Quentin was the only one he'd ever known. It wasn't as if he'd studied them. Maybe if they worked hard enough-

George's train of thought was interrupted by a voice- no, the memory of a voice- Fred's voice, echoing loudly in his head:

_Don't look at his mouth..._

George slammed his eyes shut. "I- I feel much better, Quentin. I think- I think I'd like to go to sleep now." 

"You can't! Don't go to sleep, George. Look at me, George!"

George struggled weakly. The sheets and blankets tightened their hold. "I can't do that, Quentin." 

"Just for a little while, George! It'll all going to be alright! You'll be perfectly happy! It'll make everything so much easier, George!" 

George shook his head no, feeling tears coming on. More tears, too many tears...

"You have to, George! _I WANT TO BE A WIZARD!" _George could hear Quentin sobbing, feel him desperately shaking the bed. "Please! He might not let me if you don't! Dad's scared of him, George. He won't admit it to me, but I can tell."

George only shook his head slowly back and forth, wishing desperately for his brother, tears squeezing out of his tightly sealed eyelids. 

"You're only making it harder on yourself, Georgie," said a voice from the doorway, "But if that's how you want it..." 

George heard Quentin give a distressed moan- felt him retreated from the bed. He heard the door slam shut. He felt the blankets slacken a little, and lifted his head to see who the voice belonged to. 

It was Fred. 


	8. Schism

Well, if you haven't sued me by now you probably aren't going to, but still, I don't own anything blah blah blah blah blah blah blah BLAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

**SCHISM**

"Fred!" George wailed with relief, "oh god Fred how did you get here we've gotta get outta here a bunch of fucking pyschos all of them-"

Before him was Fred's body, in Fred's pants- he was looking at Fred's bare chest as he'd seen it god-knows-how-long-ago in their own kitchen, still bloody and scratched up- his hair was cut just like George's, messy, red, everywhere- 

But hanging over eyes that had no whites. Only red- no pupils- no nothing, just red, from bottom lid to upper eyelash.

"Fred?"

"Come now, boy." Fred laughed. He blinked, and the red eyes flashed and disappeared- his normal brown eyes were now glinting evilly at George.

"I don't understand-"

_"I don't understand!" _Fred mocked. "I can tell _this _is going to be quite a big to-do-"

"What have you done to my brother? Who are-"

"-don't interrupt me, boy. _It's rude_."

George felt bile rise in his throat. Oh, how he wished to believe it was his twin in front of him! But he knew no one else in the world better, not even himself. As he looked into those eyes, Fred's eyes, he hardly saw a human.

Let alone his brother. 

"First things first, Georgie," Fred continued, going to a large, curving affair to his left that was a stone fireplace. 

"_What have you done with my brother_?" George demanded again, feeling a sudden burst of courage. "I know you're not him!" 

Fred lunged at him, seizing his collar and pulling him very close to his face. George winced at the smell of his sickly-sweet breath. It was sour, pungent, and so thick it was like a solid object in George's nose. It was a familiar smell...

"Let me tell you something about _me_, George. Essentially, as a formless evil, I go off things rather quickly." 

The smell of death. 

"I've always had a lacking attention span, Georgie," he continued, "It's a personality flaw. And in addition to that, when one doesn't need their body to be alive, one ceases to see it as a temple. It's not as sacred. You become rather... indifferent to the body you were born with." 

George blinked at him, unable to connect the words with this face that he knew so well. Fred's nose, mouth, cheeks, forehead- so close, yet he was not there at all. 

Fred shoved him away, onto the bed, where the blankets were much obliged to have him back. As they curled themselves around him, he was too confused, too frightened, to struggle. He lay there, staring at his brother with bulging eyes. 

"You do, however," his brother continued, "need a body to function, to destroy others. _To have power. _Don't misunderstand me, boy; I was very pleased to finally come back into power. But my body, George, it was _so old. _How was I to inflict pain and misery and death on others in such a decrepit body? It wouldn't do, Georgie! It just wouldn't do. Certainly I could have waited until the old one gave out, but patience is a virtue I do not possess, I'm afraid."

He paused. A numbing cold flooded over George. His blood froze. He felt as if he'd stepped out of his body and was watching himself from far away. Everything became fuzzy- his whole head was pounding-

"Y- you- you-" he stuttered, his mouth dry except for a stale film in his throat.

"You don't have to say my name out loud, Georgie. I know it makes you people uncomfortable. I don't want you to be uncomfortable, George. Not now. Not so close to your death." 

Voldemort smiled, flashing Fred's rows of perfect white teeth. 

"_How? Why us_..." George cried, shuddering. His stomach began to churn. 

"Why us," Voldemort chuckled, crossing Fred's arms over Fred's chest, "how many times have I heard that? You people are so _achingly_ predictable. How could I even make you understand? How could you? You've had such a pleasant life. Such a big, happy family you grew up in. So caring, so supportive- so full of charming little antics and _nauseating _heart-warming moments."

_This is not real,_ George told himself desperately. 

"I knew I wanted to destroy your family for a long time-," Fred's face darkened slightly, "In fact, the Burrow was next on my list, after the Potters- but we all know how that turned out. So I waited. Until now. I was given the perfect opportunity, boy, by your dear old mum! I could acquire a new body _and _ruin a happy family! Two birds with one stone, right Georgie?"

He threw his head back and laughed for a long time while George fumbled with the blankets he'd so loathed moments before and hid underneath them. They quivered... seemed to be laughing, rejoicing, right along with Voldemort. 

When his mirth had calmed to snorts and sighing, he continued, "Who better than you or your Fred? Didn't really matter which, did it? Such happy, playful teenagers. So full of life, with no idea what it's like to have _no one_... to be _alone_, because they never have been. Not _ever_, not even in the womb." 

Now George saw Voldemort, the mirror image of himself, nod at him with a sly smile. Fire began to dance its way up from the floor in the fireplace behind him, casting a stocky shadow over George. The light waved madly over his twin's head. 

"But I've gone off on a tangent. I hadn't planned to explain this all to you. I have much to do, after all. I've only told you because your little cousin, here-" he wagged Fred's finger at the space beneath the bed, and Quentin came sliding out from beneath it, trembling. "-didn't succeed in his very simple little task. I'll deal with you later, little man. _GET OUT_!" 

Upon Voldemort's demand Quentin was raised off the floor and began to fly across the room toward the single black door.

"I tried, Mr. Master, sir!" Quentin wailed pitifully, "I tried to make him happy! He wouldn't look! I still get to be a wizard, don't I-" He grabbed a hold of a pillar and clung to it, his legs waving behind him. He turned his eyes on George, "I'm sorry, George! It's okay! I'll bring everyone back, because I'll be a wizard, and wizards can fix anything! I just wanna make my dad proud of me, George. I just wanted-" 

Quentin's head slammed against the door frame and he flopped over, unconscious. With several indifferent whips of Fred's wrist, Voldemort opened the door, sent Quentin flying out, right into Madam Malica, whose hand was still cupped over her ear from eavesdropping. They toppled to the floor and the door slammed shut. 

"Now," said Voldemort, slapping Fred's hands together, "I tried to make it easy for you, Georgie. The spell I put on his teeth- diversionary. To soften your head... take your thoughts off brooding over your dear brother, who I must add was simply _howling _for your help! Or perhaps it was the pain- very painful, to have your body stolen- who can tell, really? If dear old Ma Weasley hadn't separated the two of you, you would have known instinctively the moment I entered his body. You would have informed that bastard at Hogwarts, and all would have been in vain. So I had to make sure you didn't - not that _you _made it very difficult for me, you weren't really listening, were you, Georgie- but your Fred; _my_, did he fight me. It was brilliant, feeling the way I tainted him- _soured _him... and while you were at a pub getting you memory wiped by a _ten year old_, your Fred was at home _murdering _your eldest brother! Isn't it _marvelous_?"

"Bill?" George muttered, swaying slightly. He turned his head and would have been violently ill, but had nothing in his stomach to vomit. He heaved dryly, producing a small puddle of yellow sick, and then stared at it, his brain a useless cloud. 

"Such pawns, all of you_. _Such sheep. So _predictable. _So easily manipulated. You were so cooperative, George," said Voldemort, shaking his head slightly, a sort of contented smile on his face, "You made everything so much easier, walking right into my spell. _Rejecting _your own twin brother. That's why I was going to take pity on you."

There was an ample silence. George continued to heave, wishing for death.

"Say, 'thank you anyway,' boy. You're lucky I can even recall the word 'pity.'"

"thank... you... anyway..." George moaned.

"I _was _going to let you be in a pleasant daze when you died, Georgie. I wasn't going to kill you slowly, like Ron, or have you murdered by the eldest child, like your parents and sister-"

"-you just said Bill was dead..." 

"Have patience, Georgie!" exclaimed Voldemort gleefully, "Slowly- soon he'll break down completely, and I'll have control of him, for just a short time before he rots away from the inside out. It'll be marvelous. Then _poor little Georgie_, before he dies, of course, will be all alone in the world- just like I was." 

George shut his eyes. "Charlie.... Percy....Fred..."

Voldemort roared with laughter. 

"You prove my point, boy! Such a perfect little fool! Here you are, reminding _me_, the _monster _who is going to kill you, about the rest of your family! Oh, George. What a jewel you are. You've brought us full circle, to where I planned to begin. Now, no more time to waste."

He turned his back on George and looked for a moment in the raging fire. 

"You know what I hate almost as much as big happy families, boy?"

He did not turn to George for an answer, nor did he receive one. 

"Bravery, Georgie. _Heroes_. I cannot stand them. So, first item on our agenda is the death of the Weasley family hero, Charlie the Dragon-Keeper! The biggest obstacle for me in this whole business."

"Charlie-"

"He irritated me greatly. He's wandering around the Floo Network as we speak, foolishly searching for you- or shall I say- _us... _are you ready to see him die, George?" 

"_NO!" _George howled. He was able to make it into a sitting position before he felt the bedding closing around his neck. _"Leave us alone, you bastard..." _

Fred's face flinched mockingly. "Georgie! I'm insulted! I think you should apologize."

George struggled. 

"I said _apologize." _Voldemort waved Fred's fingers at George's throat. 

"I... apologize..." George choked involuntarily, feeling air being forced through his voice box. 

"Good. We're going to play a funny joke on Charlie the Dragon-Keeper. You like playing jokes, don't you Georgie?" said Voldemort over Fred's shoulder. Fred's eyes were blazing with amusement. 

"No," George spat, continuing to struggle, though the blankets were making it difficult to breathe. 

"Don't lie to me, George. I have explored every inch of Fred's little brain, which I can't imagine being very different from yours. You love to play _all sorts _of jokes. I believe that's how all this came about, is it not?" Voldemort laughed again, high and shrill. "I'm not the only one to blame for all of this, my boy. Give me your clothes," he ordered, turning suddenly from the fire. 

"Wha-"

"_Give me your clothes. _This is going to be great fun." 


	9. Percy the Prefect

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of fanfiction, I fear no law suit from JK Rowlings, for this disclaimer art with me. :::skips a few lines::: Surely goodness and nonwealth (for I make no money at this, nor do I own anything) shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of Ravenclaw forever. 

**CHAPTER NINE**

**PERCY THE PREFECT**

Madness ensued at the library when Errol came swooping in through an open window, screeching as if he were tailed by a dragon. Percy, who had taken a break from his book and sat rubbing the bridge of his nose, saw only a great gray blur. He fumbled around for his glasses, hearing gasps and shrieks from the patrons at surrounding tables. He felt something fall on his head. 

"Young man!" said a livid voice behind him, "There are no animals allowed in the library!" 

Errol's screeching grew faint as he flew away.

"Young man!" she shrieked again, "What is the meaning of this?"

Percy continued to feel around for his glasses.

"Young-" 

"I'm not sure, ma'am," he replied irritably, "do you see any glasses anywhere?" 

Half a minute later she pushed them roughly into his hand. When the world came back into focus, he set to untying the scroll parchment. The woman, a librarian, he assumed, was still behind him, preparing to read over his shoulder. 

"Madam," he said, "Do you mind?"

She ruffled, appalled. "I've received no proper explanation! I could have you _arrested_, sending wild animals into this quiet place of study to deliver your mail! Disturbing the peace!" 

"By all means, madam," he said coolly, gesturing open space for her to leave. She stormed away, shaking her head and grumbling. 

Upon opening the letter he was vaguely surprised to see Bill's handwriting. It read:

_Perce-_

_Come home now. Bind me or I'm going to slit Mum's throat. _

Percy stared at it for a long time. He read it five times. He took off his glasses, wiped them on his shirt, put them back on, and read it five more times. The words did not change. 

"Very funny," he muttered.

* * * * * * 

"Ron! Ronny! Wake up, now! Wake up!" The healer tapped each side of his face. 

No sound but Mrs. Weasley moaning hopelessly. 

"What now?" Mr. Weasley said.

The healer shook her head. "That was the strongest potion I have. It'll cure leprosy, if that's what ails you. I've never seen this curse before. It must have been an experiment. You say his elder brother did this to him? What were they fighting about?" 

Mr. Weasley threw up his hands. "They _weren't _fighting. They've hardly spoken, you see- our Fred, the one who did... this... we sent his twin brother away for the rest of the summer... he's been a little angry ever since... but he's only two years older, Madam! I just don't see how..." 

"Ah, well, it'll probably wear off. You'd be surprised at what children can do when they get angry enough. Why, my daughter took her older brother's leg right off just last week when they were fighting. Poor thing's still on crutches." The healer snapped closed her medicine bag. 

"I've never heard of such a thing," said Mr. Weasley curiously, "Are you certain? When our children got upset when they were very little they would change each other's toys into giant insects, you know-"

"-the _usual _things," Mrs. Weasley interjected, her eyebrow raised. "Never anything like this." 

"Still," said the healer, "I'm concerned that his heart rate seems to be slowing. I think it best if you and Ron come along with me to St. Mungo's so we can monitor him."

"Yes, yes. Right away," said Mr. Weasley. 

"Arthur, the twins-"

"Bill will be here if they come back. He hasn't left the fireplace. He's owled Percy, too." 

"He seems ill." 

"He's just upset." 

Mrs. Weasley nodded. "I'll gather our things." She gave Ron one last pat on the chest and left the room with Ginny.

Mr. Weasley sat and sighed heavily. 

The healer smiled at him. "He'll be fine, Mr. Weasley." 

"Thank you so much for coming out so terribly quickly, Madam- er, I'm terribly sorry, I'm afraid I didn't catch your name." 

"It's perfectly alright," She said, "Call me Madam Malica." 

"Malica," Mr. Weasley repeated curiously. It seemed to him the name should hold some significance- he seemed to remember it from somewhere- whatever it was, it wouldn't come to him. 

* * * * * *

Percy appeared from thin air in the kitchen, gasped, and dropped his substantial stack of books. He gaped around the destroyed room; it was covered in broken glass, food, blood, and splinters of wood from the kitchen table, which lay on its side.

Bill was in a corner near the fireplace, his legs drawn up, his face buried in his knees. Percy ran to him, dropped to the floor and shook him hastily. 

"Bill what on earth has happened here?" 

"Go, Perce." He didn't lift his head. 

"What? You just told me to come home! _What the hell happened_? Where is everyone? Bill! You send me an owl at a _Muggle _library and now you're telling me to leave? What's this rubbish about slitting Mum's throat?" 

Bill's right arm was trembling rather severely, but he did not respond. 

"Bill? Are you alright?" Percy cried. 

His head went slowly from one side to the other: no. 

"Bill!" panicked Percy, "_Talk to me please!" _Percy shook him with all his might, but he would not move. "Bill? _God damn_-"

Percy choked and felt Bill's hand closed around his throat. 

In a panic he flailed his arms- tried to tug Bill's hand away- punched his him desperately in the head and chest and arms- anywhere he could hit- all the while gasping in protest. Bill had still not raised his head from his lap, but Percy could hear him crying. 

Blue, his vision tunneling, Percy gave up struggling and fumbled for his wand. Bill sobbed and shook him hard, knocking his glasses askew. As the world blurred he felt close to fainting, and Bill's strong fingers were clutching ever tighter. 

Just as everything was darkening around the edges and he was sure his head would burst, Percy felt the smooth surface of his wand- He drew it, but could only choke and wheeze; red sparks flew out of the end and Bill's head was aflame. Percy could see the blur of his arms stamping it out, hear him sobbing-

Percy crawled away, gulping in precious air. Though it was rank with blood and burning hair, it tasted sweeter than anything he could remember. At several paces away he spun around and called out a binding spell, but Bill was nowhere in sight. 

"Bill?" He whispered, unwilling to trust his poor vision. 

Percy put his hand to his aching throat and stared in awe at the place Bill had just been. All that remained were the ashes of his ponytail. 

When he could breathe again (as normally as could be expected) he bent down and searched blindly for his glasses. He felt a chair, some dull chunks of broken porcelain, something wet and sticky that made his stomach knot up, a foot-

A foot?

Percy screamed and fell backward. The foot was attached to huge dark blur, too huge to be anyone in his family, and he could make out a gray halo that was its hair. 

The blur bent down, and Percy heard his glasses slide across the floor. After a quick swipe over his robes he replaced them on his face, thankful he had his vision back, but frightened at what he might see. 

It was graying man, rather old, probably six and a half feet tall. His crow-footed eyes were watery and his lower lip trembled. He was dressed liked Percy had never seen: a pair of denim overalls and a standard, rather shabby cloak. 

"Who- who are you?" said the man meekly. 

Percy felt rather weak as the fear drained out of him. It was promptly replaced by anger. "Who am _I_? _Who in the bloody hell are you?"_

"I- I must be your Uncle," the man stuck out a large, calloused hand, "You would be- er, Charles, then?" 

"I'm Percy," he said cautiously, ignoring the hand and crossing his arms over his chest. "My uncle Whom? Where's my brother? He was just here. He _attacked _me-"

"John. Your mum's brother," the man said, removing his hat and wringing it in his hands. He looked like an overgrown child; his toes were pointed inward, his eyes bloodshot with shame. "I've er- done a bad thing, Percy. Very bad." 

"Uncle John," said Percy thoughtfully, allowing the man to help him off the floor. "George got sent to live with you."

"Where are your parents?" said John worriedly. 

"Is George alright?" 

"Where are they?" 

"I don't know- I've just arrived. _What's happened here_?" 

John looked around the room, shook his head, and stared at the floor. His moist eyes became wet. "I didn't mean for this to happen..." 

"Didn't mean for what to happen?" asked Percy, tensing. He righted a nearby chair and sat gingerly on its edge. 

"He said he would help my son," John whimpered in a strained voice, the hat shaking in his hands, "'I can give him the power,' he told me. I knew who he was- what he'd done... just a simple spell, he said. Just a harmless spell, and your son will be normal when it's complete... he said he just wanted to help us... I was a fool to believe.... I wanted so much... I never meant to... " John trailed off, hiding his face in his massive hands.

"What are you _talking _about?" cried Percy. 

"Your family is in trouble, son. It's all my fault. He's taken them- he's going to kill them all-" 

"_Who?_"

"_Stupify__!" _

John fell face down on the floor. 

Percy jumped to his feet, wand poised. In the doorway stood a little boy, not more than eleven, with dark hair, dull black eyes set in a protruding, hairy brow. He, too, had his wand drawn, and was pointing it at Percy. 

"This is too much now!" Percy wailed, "Who in Merlin's Beard are you? Who is he?" 

"I'm Joeb Malica. Sorry about him," said the boy cheerily, "He's a little nutters. Must have slip through when the fire was open. Your family just left, you see." 

"Left where?" 

"St. Mungo's. I'm afraid your brothers Ron and Fred got in a little fight. Fred cursed him. They've both been taken away for a little rest. This man's a long term patient at the hospital. Old and crazy, but still has a lot of energy. Manages to escape nearly every week. If you want to follow me, I'll take you to-"

"-did you say Malica?" 

The boy squirmed. "I did. Why?" 

"No reason." said Percy a little too quickly. "Sounds a little familiar, that's all. Maybe not." 

The boy blinked at him. "As I was saying... if you want to come with me, I'll show you to your family. I'll send a couple of orderlies back to retrieve Mr. uh- Dumbwaiter, here."

Percy tightened his grip on his wand, making some quick decisions. "Mr. Dumbwaiter, eh? Alright then, let's away. Shall we Apparate?" 

"Ah," said Joeb slowly, "For security reasons, there is no Apparating or Disapparating at St. Mungo's- why, we'd have patients disappearing left and right- no, I've arranged for a portkey. A slip of parchment, in your back yard. Right out here-"

"-you first, my good man," said Percy, bowing and taking a step back. 

Joeb was taken aback. "No, I insist, you first." 

"No, go ahead. I have to lock up." Percy smiled. 

Joeb stared at him for a moment before nodding slightly, lowering his wand, and heading out the door. 

Moments later he was on the floor in front of John, unable to move, as his body was bound. 

"Just what do you think you're doing?" He demanded, struggling. "Just what-"

"Oh, leave off," Percy smirked, using his foot to roll Joeb over on his back. "How _thick _do you think I am? First of all, don't you think you're a little young to work at St. Mungo's?" 

"I'm twenty-seven!" 

"_Right_. I know who you are, Mr. _Malica_. The so called 'light half' of the Goyle family. Your brood changed its name and fled to America after the fall of You-Know-Who, claiming you had nothing to do with anything, and that you feared for your lives. People have all but forgotten about you and yours. Am I correct?" 

"Not at all." Joeb growled and huffed, clearly enraged with himself. 

"Who put you up to this? Not anyone smart, _obviously_." said Percy haughtily. 

"How did you know?" Joeb looked as if he were about to cry. 

Percy told him pompously, "Your cousin Gregory -though he's a great daft useless git- his father was rather smart. He was a prefect. So am I. I read it, just now at the library, in a book called _A History of Prefects. _Perhaps intelligence skips a generation in your family."

"Fuck," Joeb cried. He let his head drop to the floor and fat tears came rolling down his cheeks. "Please don't hurt me! No one knows I came here! I only wanted to make my Master happy! He'd have been so pleased if I'd tracked you down- you're the last- "

Percy clapped his hand over the boy's mouth and glared at him, in what he hoped was an intimidating manner, a hair's width from Joeb's face. "_Where is my family_?" 

"I can't betray my Master!" he whined. 

"Where did my brother Bill go just now?" 

"_I won't tell You'll have to kill me first!" _

Percy huffed and looked desperately around him. He seized a nearby bottle of pumpkin juice that had survived the earlier chaos and brought it down on the floor, shattering it. He held the jagged edges to Joeb's throat. Though he felt brave, he could not stop his hand from trembling. 

"I will if I must," He said slowly, deliberately, "_Tell me where my family is_." 


	10. The Joke and Black

DISCLAIMER: You're partly to blame, Ms. Rowlings. If you weren't making me wait so long for the fifth book I might not have to sooth my addiction by writing fanfiction! By fanfiction, I mean this story in which I use characters that I don't own. They aren't mine, just in case anyone didn't know that.

****

CHAPTER TEN

THE JOKE AND BLACK 

George began to strip, horrified by an expression he'd never seen on Fred's face before. 

He burned with hatred as he watched Voldemort remove the clothes from Fred's body. Fred's nudity was of course no different from his own, and the sight was often seen, as they were far from modest and had always shared a bedroom, but this time was different. A dirtiness came over him; he felt his skin crawling. How dare Voldemort, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the most disgusting being ever to curse the whole of the universe- how dare he enter the body of his twin, strip the body of his twin naked and look upon it with such a jovial, self-righteous expression...

George wanted to attack him. He wanted the beast to somehow feel the pain he had caused him, he wanted to tear his throat out- but that would mean hurting Fred. George knew that was something he could never do. 

There had been plenty of occasions where his twin had irritated him, even angered him, but the thought of raising a hand to him had never crossed his mind-

He'd slapped Fred. The memory came to him hard, as if he, too, had been struck. George thought of his brother's head, snapping back and forth as he shook him, the burning on his cheek, and felt very sick inside. Fred had still been there, when they were all in the kitchen, completely alone, fighting Voldemort for the space of his own mind and body- had called on George with the last of his strength- 

And George had slapped him. 

Let his head hit the kitchen floor.

Screamed at him.

Gave him nothing but negative energy when he needed help. 

George broke down, wailed, sobbed into his hands, shaking violently from his fingertips to the pit of his writhing stomach. It was all his fault. He deserved to die. 

"Stop blubbering, Georgie," Voldemort clucked, pulling on George's jeans, "Perfect fit."

"I hate you._" _George whimpered, feeling his insides sink. 

"Of course you do, my boy. Get dressed." 

His legs were leaden as he pulled on Fred's bloodstained jeans, but he felt safer, somehow, as he slid them over his skin. Stained and filthy with the stench of Voldemort as they were, they had still belonged to Fred. 

_They _do _belong to Fred, _George told himself, tears dripping off his chin, _And they will belong to him again... when this is over we'll go out in the backyard and burn them until there's nothing left._

He studied his twin as Voldemort pulled his sweater over Fred's head, and felt his brother must still be in there somewhere. He _had _to be. George was sure that if Fred was... if Fred had... George was sure he would've felt something if the unmentionable had happened.

_I'm listening now, brother, _George thought bitterly, _I'm sorry, Fredsie... I'm so sorry... I'm listening now..._

He felt Fred's hand come hard across his face. He opened his eyes and Voldemort was standing over him. George's cheek burned with pain; his heart, with anger.

"_No more of that_," said Voldemort.

There was unease in Fred's eyes. 

"No more of what?" said George defiantly. 

Voldemort, now fully dressed in George's clothing, drew what George recognized as Fred's wand, and pointed it at his nose. 

"You can't use that on me. Fred and I've got brother wands." 

Voldemort laughed. "I certainly can, Georgie-boy. You don't have yours, remember? And also, _I'm not Fred." _

"Then his wand won't work right for you!" said George indignantly.

"_Shut up_," Voldemort demanded, "I _will not _stand here and be argued with by a miserable little-"

"-getting to you, am I, Voldie?" George blurted. 

"_Crucio." _

Pain like nothing George had ever felt; even his eyelids convulsed as his body was sliced apart layer by layer, all his limbs were broken- someone had taken his spine and was twisting it clockwise, ripping it out-

He fell back on the bed, gasping; felt his vomit from earlier, wet and warm on the back of his head. His muscles were tight with fatigue. Voldemort muttered something else, and George felt a lesser pain on his chest and stomach. He looked down and saw he now had identical cuts and bruises to Fred. 

"See? It works just fine! Now no more mouth from you!" roared Voldemort. Pink was creeping into Fred's pale cheeks. 

Despite his pain, George laughed inwardly. 

"_Imperio!" _Voldemort called. 

Before George realized what was happening, he was going to the fireplace- he was opening his mouth-

"Ch- Char- Charlie Weasley!" He heard himself shouting. 

Charlie and he were on the ground. Charlie was coughing and spitting black soot upon the stone floor. 

"Charlie! Oh Charlie _thank god_!" screamed Fred's voice from behind them. 

George pushed his brother off and spun around. Voldemort was lying in the bed; the blankets, sheets, and coverlet were tangled around him. 

"What in Merlin's Beard is going on here?" Charlie demanded, standing and brushing ash of his cloak. 

"Fred's mad, Charlie," Voldemort sobbed, "He needs_ serious_ help! He says he's going to-" 

"-he's not me!" George shrieked, "I mean, he's not George. I'm George. Look at me, Charlie. You've always been able to tell us apart-"

"-I am looking, Fred. You're still covered in blood," said Charlie angrily, "Where are we? Is this your guys' idea of a _joke_?"

"-he's going to kill us!" Voldemort moaned. 

"No, _he's _going to kill us, Charlie! It's- It's You-Know-Who! He's taken over-"

"-see Charlie? He's gone insane-"

"SHUT IT, BOTH OF YOU!" Charlie brought his hands to his head. 

While Charlie struggled with the situation, Voldemort gave George a satisfied smirk.

"_You miserable cunt!" _George screamed at him. 

Fred's face crumpled. "How can you say such things to me, Georgie? I'm you twin! You're my best friend!" 

Something clicked in George's head. He saw what Voldemort was trying to do- make him seem like the insane one- 

_What pawns you are..._

"Charlie," George said calmly, putting his hands on Charlie's shoulders. 

"_What the hell did you do to Ron and Bill?" _

"I can prove that I'm George." 

"I don't give a _shit _who you are!" Charlie snarles, throwing off George's hands. "You're both having your heads examined as soon as we get home. You're lucky your underage. You could be sent to Azka-"

"I'm telling the truth! I know it sounds mad, but- just- just look on the bottom of his foot!" 

"_What_?" Charlie and Voldemort said in unison. 

After a moment Charlie nod his head introspectively. "When you two were born... they put a mark on the second baby, so they wouldn't mix you up..."

"-yes!" George nodded furiously. 

"...the second baby was Fred," Charlie eyes got rather dreamy, thinking of distant times, "That's the only way Mum could tell you apart until you were three or four."

"He- You-Know-W- Voldemort set this whole thing up! He's possessed Fred's body and he made us switch, I swear!" George babbled, "I don't know what he'd trying to do but- but- just look at it, look at his foot!" 

"But you're wearing Fred's clothes," said Charlie reluctantly, "you've got dried blood all over your chest-"

"_He _did that! Look, Charlie, please!" 

Charlie stared at George for a long time. He'd obviously already decided that they were both loony, and now was trying to decide if this twin was really George. Finally he climbed on the edge of the bed and jerked Fred's left foot free from the covers. He tore George's shoe off and threw it over his shoulder.

He looked. 

"Fred?" said Charlie with a perplexed expression. 

Fred's mouth cracked into a triumphant grin. 

"Call me The Dark Lord," he said, drawing his wand from beneath the covers, "most everyone does." 

George howled and turned away. 

Charlie's eyes became very wide. 

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

_There was a thick blackness all around. He must be dead. Voldemort had murdered Charlie and then killed him. George felt he as if he had no body, but he was supported comfortably by the darkness. It gently swayed him back and forth, as if trying to lull him to sleep. _

"Georgie..." came Fred's voice from far away in the darkness. George had to strain to hear. 

"Fredsie," he whispered, "Freds, I'm listening now. I'm so sorry.. I'm listening now...

"You tried to listen always..." 

"I let you down, Freds. Both of you. Oh God Fred, Charlie!. Vold-"

"-don't say it. He may hear. His spell was strong, Georgie. I've told you, none of this is your fault-"

"-it is my fault. He-"

"-George, we don't have time-"

"-he killed-"

"-stop, George. You said you were listening to-"

"-I am-"

"-then for Merlin's sake, shut your hole and listen! Blimey..." Bittersweet giggles from both of them in the darkness, despite everything. It seemed to pale the black into a thick, dark gray. "Don't listen to him, George. Most of what he speaks are lies. You were_ trying to listen to me- I wasn't speaking. It felt good, George. So worry free. I knew I was becoming a monster and I embraced it. I realized too late..." _

"Is this real? I mean, is it really you?" 

"It's really me. Is it really you?" 

"Maybe we're both imagining it." 

"We are, Georgie."

"Fred-"

"-Georgie, you have to kill me." 

The darkness shifted. George felt it change heavily from mere dark to a blackness that was overwhelming and thick like tar. 

"You're him," George whispered, "You're not Fred." . 

"You know it's me, Georgie."

A long pause. 

"No. How can you ask me to do that, Fred?" George cried. 

"Because you love me, and you don't want me to suffer." 

"Don't get all sappy on me, Freds." 

"This is serious, George." 

"Good God." 

A heavy silence.

"It's awful in here, where I'm trapped," said Fred after a moment, his voice becoming hollow and farther and farther away, "It stinks, its filthy, it hurts- I thought I would die when he took complete control, but I'm still here. Trapped. I want to leave, Georgie." 

The darkness was becoming too thick to breathe. 

"Leave where?" 

"Please, George. Kill him. Kill me." 

George gulped in some dark; felt it travel down into his depths and settle there like a heavy stone. 

"I'll have to kill myself, as well," he said after a time. 

"Don't you dare, Georgie. You'll be fine alone, until it's your time... he's proved that to us." 

"Yeah," George spat, "Look how great we've done so far. Don't ask me to do that, Fredsie. You can't ask me to do that. It's what he wants." 

When Fred spoke again, George had to strain through the suffocating darkness to hear him; his voice was faint as a breeze.

"Then he'll have one thing he wants. You'll be alone. But nothing else. I hear bits and pieces of his plans, Georgie. Horrible things. I have to die, George. My body has to die. It's the only way."

"I can't! I won't! There must be some other way!" 

"In the stomach, George. That's where it began-" 

"-Enough! I know what you're doing! Wake up! I'm not done with you yet!" 

The black caved in. George felt himself yanked back to consciousness, felt hands harshly shaking him, felt the cold stones of the floor, and could not will himself to move. 

__

Boy, some of the stuff I wrote about Voldemort would sound like badly written slash if taken out of context (Voldemort removed the clothes from Fred's body...) Eeeewwwwww! 


	11. The Squib

I hope the author of Harry Potter, JK Rowlings, never stumbles upon this, because I'm sure she'd sue me just for being so mean. By this, I of course mean this fictional story using fictional characters that I do not own and would not dream of trying to turn a profit with. 

****

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE SQUIB

Regret.

George lay very still on the floor, trying not to breath, praying Voldemort would think him dead; perhaps wishing to fool himself as well. He screamed inwardly for Fred, hoping for a snippet of his voice again- hoping Fred would retract his plea- but heard only Voldemort, commanding him to get up. It was odd, George thought foggily, how Fred's voice could sound so different from Fred's voice. 

It could not be true.

How could it be true? 

It was not possible. 

How could it be? How could it possibly be that Charlie-

No.

_No! _

How could _what _be?

__

As Voldemort tried to lift him off the floor, the world spun so relentlessly that he could not recognize his own hand in front of his face. He remembered not the question to his answer. But he knew it wasn't. It couldn't. It was impossible, everything, as the hand he held before him was surely impossible, too. George hiccupped and felt- didn't feel- all the emotion bleed out of him. Though his heart was beating too fast, he felt nothing.

Except cold. 

His brain tried to find pleasant thoughts but could not seem to grasp even one. Anything and everything pleasant seemed so far away- instead every not-so-funny prank Fred and him had ever pulled came flooding over him with gnawing remorse. He remembered the time they'd bewitched Percy's shoes, on the day he was edgy and flustered by his upcoming Apparation exam. He remembered how they had laughed hysterically when Percy fell all the way down two flights of stairs and out the door to fail his test. 

George thought of the time Bill had come home from Egypt terribly ill with some exotic flu, and Fred and he- it had seemed so funny at the time. Why on earth had it seemed so funny?- had replaced his prescribed potion with sleeping draught, and Bill had nearly died in his sleep. 

He thought of the time he and his twin had decided to try out an old Muggle trick on Charlie; after he came home from a pub on his birthday and passed out on the sofa, they'd put his hand in a bowl of warm water-

George snorted a tiny bit of laughter, upsetting the dust on the stone floor. Okay, maybe that _had _been a little funny- 

"Must I use every single Unforgivable Curse on you, you stubborn boy?" Voldemort was persisting. 

Surely Voldemort hadn't really... surely somehow Charlie was still...

That rotten candy. It had seemed like such a good idea. The Weasley twins were going to be rich! Imagine on Halloween, to answer the door as host and scare the shit out of your guests, blood gushing out of nearly everywhere in your face! Imagine slipping it into the candy dish of someone at the office you don't particularly care for! Fred and George thought sure they would sell like hotcakes. If only they had thought about their test subject. If only they'd thought it through before offering it to their brother-

_He would have found another way... _he remembered Fred telling him. He knew Fred was right, but it gave no comfort. 

George yelped in pain as Voldemort took him by the hair and yanked him to his feet. 

"Ah, I had a feeling you'd awoke," he sneered, "Naptime is over, boy. I've got a few more surprises for you. The fun has only begun!" 

"Please. Just let me lay here..." George moaned. He made a vain attempt to relieve his scalp from Voldemort's grasp. Fred's hands were dry and cold. 

"Now don't start crying again yet, Georgie. You'll have plenty to cry about in a moment, and even _more _to cry about in a couple of minutes." Voldemort tossed him away. 

He landed on the floor near Charlie's body. He recoiled from it, feeling horribly nauseous, but could not take his eyes away. Charlie was translucently pale. His cheeks and lips were purple, his eyes not all the way shut. George could see them under the eyelashes, hazel and unseeing. He shook his head slowly and could not even blink. Surely this was all a nightmare, or one of their horrible jokes. Surely this could not be. How could his big brother-?

"Are you ready, Georgie?" 

"Please stop this," said George hollowly, turning pleading eyes on the merciless face of his twin. 

"Good. Grotesca! Bring in the boy!" Voldemort called to the single black door. 

Almost immediately it swung open and Madam Malica came marching in, dragging a whining, trembling Quentin by the ear. He had a sizeable bump on his head. She planted him next to Voldemort and stood with her hands on her hips, her eyes dancing excitedly. 

"Master," she said, nodding at Quentin.

"Where is my idiotic apprentice?" said Voldemort shortly. 

Her smile fell. "Sir?"

"Your thick son, Madam!" 

"I- I'm not sure-"

"Out."

Madam Malica hesitated, looking disappointed, and stalked out of the room. 

"George?" asked Quentin timidly of Voldemort. 

"Oh, no, my little man," he chuckled, putting his arm around the boy and jerking him close. Quentin crinkled his nose. 

The smell of death. 

"George and I played a funny joke on your cousin Charlie. See him over there?"

Quentin saw and let out a small cry. 

"Quentin, meet your cousin Charlie. Charlie, meet- well, I doubt it really matters to him," Voldemort howled with laughter, "Charlie used to take care of dragons. Wasn't that brave of him, Quents?" 

Quentin nodded slowly. His buggy blue eyes were huge and frightened, his enormous ice-cube shaped teeth peeking dimly out of his slightly open mouth. He looked terribly young, gazing up at Voldemort, who was more than a head taller than he in Fred's body. 

"I don't like heroes, Quentin. I don't like bravery," Voldemort shook Fred's head, "Do you know what else I don't like?"

Quentin began to whimper, trying to squirm away. Voldemort embraced him tightly. 

"You don't know? How about you, Georgie? Any ideas?"

"Don't do this," George pleaded, "he's only a little boy." 

Voldemort threw back his head and laughed heartily. "Ah, Georgie, my jewel, haven't you noticed? We are _all _just little boys!"

"_Don't do this_!" 

"What I don't like, Quentin," Voldemort said, squeezing the boy close to him, "Are little boys who fail to serve their purpose." 

Quentin burst into tears, moaning for his father. 

"Where _is _your daddy, little man? I don't think he's here, is he?" 

Quentin shook his head. 

_"Stop it!" _

"Stop carrying on now George, let me finish. That's right, Quentin, he's not here. Let me tell you where he is. He went to get help, because he's a spineless, pathetic old man. I don't like that, my boy, I don't like it when people try to get me in trouble. Nobody likes to get in trouble, do they, Quentin?"

"N-no."

"Your father is trying to get me in trouble. Do you know what that means, Quentin?" 

Quentin sniffled. "I'm sorry, Mr. Master, sir." 

_"Please don't do this!"_

"That means _you're _in trouble, boy." 

George did not have time to look away.

In a flash of green light, Quentin's life was over. He fell limp in Fred's arms. 

George never dreamed Fred could look so repulsive, or was capable of having such a grotesque smile on his face- George might have been sick again, might have fainted dead away, might have cried out- if it hadn't been for one thing... 

He could have sworn- in his shock he was probably only imagining things- but he could have sworn that out of the corner of his eye he saw Charlie flinch as Quentin was dying. He could have sworn he saw Charlie squint-perhaps grimace-as the green light flashed. 

"Now that we've gotten _that _out of the way," said Voldemort, heaving Quentin's body aside, "It's time for the big finale! And then poor Fred will escape my evil clutches, and tell the world how nasty old Voldemort murdered his entire family. How _sorry _everyone will feel for him! How _easy _it will be to take over." 

Voldemort cackled himself out of the room, shutting the door behind him. "Don't go anywhere now, Georgie. I'll be right back. Promise." 

George's eyes darted about in search of a sharp object- a blunt object- anything- Not that he really thought he was capable of killing his brother. Of course he wasn't. He couldn't. He felt ever sicker, eternally sicker, never dreaming he could look upon his twin and feel such anger and disgust. He saw nothing in which to use as a weapon. The room was unfurnished save the bed. There was not so much as a fire poker, dustpan, or candlestick. He could not believe what he was thinking of doing. He looked at Quentin's dead body, sprawled and twisted like a discarded toy upon the floor. He looked at Charlie, purple and white, his arms spread wide as if he were bargaining with the heavens- he heard Fred's voice, just a shadow now in his mind, begging for death- 

George's breath stuck in his throat as something caught his eye. 

Charlie's wand was lying under the bed, just inches from his fingertips. 

His brain began to work feverously. He knew no useful spells, he'd have to transfigure the wand into something- but what? In this state he hardly remembered how to change a match into a sewing needle. Eyeing the single black door, he dove over Charlie's body, holding his breath, trying not to look at or think about it, and took the wand into his hands. 

A match into a sewing needle_..._

George blurted the spell. Nothing. He beat the wand over his leg, cussing and threatening it, succeeding only in making blue sparks fizzle briefly at one end. 

"Come on you piece of _shit_!" He whispered, trying the spell once more. 

Like that, suddenly he was holding an enormous sewing needle. With one last swipe he was able to shrink it down a bit for concealment, so that it was roughly the length of his hand, but fat and thick and _sharp_. So he had something now. 

He wished that he didn't. 

Not hesitating to marvel at his handiwork, he shoved the eye-end into his sock and managed to pull his pant leg over it just as the black door swung open once more. 


	12. Fuse

Our JK Rowlings, who art in Europe, hallowed be they name, thy fifth book come, thy should be done! On earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our 5th book, and lead me not into something about those who trespass against us blah blah blah, and also, I don't own anything, except I coin the word "half-assedly," right here and now. Don't sue me, I would never dream of trying to make money off of anything. It all belongs to you, JK Rowlings! 

**CHAPTER TWELVE **

FUSE 

All of George's emotions, packed and sealed in a burning knot at the bottom of his stomach, came bursting forth as an deafening howl when he saw his Mum, Dad, Ginny and Ron being led through the door behind Voldemort. 

They were all tied up like a chain gang, bound together by the wrists and ankles except for Ron, who floated limply behind them, a rope tied half-assedly to his ankle. His father hung his head, his face stony. Ginny's little face was swollen and red. Madam Malica came marching in behind them, her chest thrown out, reeking of high spirits and self-importance. 

His mum saw Charlie lying out on the floor and fell to her knees, dragging her son, daughter and husband along with her, and between her mourning and George's vocal misery, Voldemort's order of silence went unnoticed. Mrs. Weasley tried to crawl to her fallen son, was reaching out to him with grieving fists- she ran into an invisible barrier and beat against it, shrieking Charlie's name. 

Voldemort waved Fred's wand and sound emerged no more from her furiously working mouth. 

"_NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!" _George wailed, beating his head again the stone floor. He heard his skull crack against it and felt no pain. "How many times must you _kill me? Isn't once enough_? Torture _me _forever_! Just leave my family ALONE!_"

Voldemort waved the wand once more and George could not longer hear himself. He felt the energy flowing out of his body... he was resting in the small pool of blood that was flowing from his head. 

_I'm sorry, Fred... forgive me..._

Relief washed over him, as he was sure he'd bleed to death. Perhaps he could explain his cowardice to his family later in Hell. Except it would be just him there, wouldn't it? 

Alone. 

_No! _

He could not die first. He could not leave Fred trapped and suffering while he himself was blessed with death.

__

"Not yet, Georgie-boy. You'll stay awake just a few more minutes. Just a few," Voldemort told him. "Well, Mrs. Weasley, Mr. Weasley, little Ginny, I'm Lord Voldemort. Charmed, I'm sure. Now who are we missing? Let's see, we've got those two, Georgie here, and there's Charlie, _dead _on the floor- my, Molly, aren't you quite the breeder... now _who_- oh yes! Of course! Bill! William Weasley, could you join us please?" 

George was able to open his eyes just enough to see the paper-thin frame of a man appear from nowhere, his head bald except for black patches of charred skin and a peeling, blistered scalp. His skin glowed orange, fading in and out, in and out, as if a slow strobe of that color were all that were in his body. His eyes were dead and completely white. He stood lifeless and thoughtless, waiting for Voldemort's command. Had Voldemort not called him by name, George was sure he wouldn't have known who it was.

Mrs. Weasley's head shook back and forth in disbelief. 

"We're going to play a fun game, George," said Voldemort, rolling up his sleeves, "It's called Pick-Up-Sticks. What you are going to do, Georgie, is close you eyes and pick a wand up off the floor, and whomever's wand it is, Billy here will kill that person first! Won't that be-"

"-sorry I'm late, sir!" called a voice behind Voldemort. He turned and Joeb stepped out of the fireplace, flustered and pink in the face. 

"Where have you been, you thick little imbecile? How do you expect to learn anything?" barked Voldemort. 

"I'm sorry, sir, I was- oops..." Joeb bent down quickly and snatched up what he'd dropped and shattered on the ground. 

If it were possible for George to feel any sicker, for his heart to race any more rapidly, for his stomach to knot any harder, for his mind to spin any faster- it did. He let his head drop, squeezed his eyes shut, and rubbed his face in his own blood, feeling that oblivion would take over any moment- begging it to. 

_Flow faster, blood, _he thought.

Percy's glasses, lying shattered on the floor. 

_Goddamn fucking _Percy's glasses! 

No one left.

No one was left to save them.

No hope.

No hope, not even for a quick death, for the inevitable had already evaded him in quite a prolonged fashion. Voldemort had not lied to him. He would watch his entire family die, and then he would die himself. 

"Since when do you wear glasses, you stupid, _stupid _boy?" 

"I didn't sir," Joeb exclaimed excitedly. "I mean I don't, sir. I mean- I killed the stray, sir!" 

"How?" said Voldemort skeptically. "We haven't gone over that yet. That is _tonight's _lesson. Right now. The one you've come _late _for." 

Joeb twiddled his thumbs a moment, then his eyes lit up. "I didn't use a spell, sir. I took a pumpkin juice bottle, sir, and I stabbed that Percy, right in the throat." Joeb excitedly pumped his arm in and out to demonstrate. 

Mrs. Weasley wailed silently while her husband wretched. 

George heard the words but they meant nothing. Just more bumbling, cruelly prolonging his life. 

"You killed Percy?" Fred's mouth spread into a wide grin. Voldemort patted Joeb on the shoulder. "Well done, boy, well done. I'd forgotten about him. So many to keep track of." 

"Thank you, sir." 

Voldemort stared at him. Fred's eyebrow raised. "_Why _do you keep calling me _sir_?" 

Joeb blinked, his smile disappearing. His lowered lip worked. "I- I'm sorry, uh, _ Master_." 

Voldemort nodded. "That's better. Now watch carefully, Joeb. George, do you remember how to play the game?" 

George didn't move. He felt the giant needle, cold and smooth against his leg. Even if he found the strength to get up- surely Voldemort would curse him dead before he could even pull it out. He hated himself for spotting Charlie's wand. How could Fred ask him to do this? The very thought of stabbing Fred's body made him sting all over. He knew he didn't have it in him anywhere to do it. No, of course he didn't want Fred to suffer. Of course he would gladly take Fred's place and rot in the brain of Voldemort forever, and of course he did not want his family to die...

"Voldemort," said George weakly, "Voldemort..." 

"Okay, let's begin. Close your eyes."

"Voldemort please..." 

Voldemort rolled his eyes impatiently. "_Please. _Years of conditioning should have taught you that there is no 'please Voldemort, oh please Voldemort.'Be a man about it, Georgie. I want to tell people how _brave _my twin was at the end. Go on, pick one. Bill's getting impatient, aren't you Bill?" 

Bill stood as still and emotionless as a statue. 

"No! I won't."

George knew what he had to do. 

_I want to leave, Georgie..._

"_Fine_, fine then. Perhaps you need an example. Joeb will show you how it's done." Voldemort looked at Joeb and gestured at the pile of wands that Madam Malica had lay before them. Joeb looked very nervous indeed, and did not move. "Go on then, boy." 

Joeb bit his thin lip and took a step forward, but Voldemort put out Fred's arm and held him back. "Why are _you _still here, Grotesca?" 

Madam Malica frowned and blinked several times. "Can't I stay for the fun, Master?" 

"No. Out with you. I'll have words with you later."

"About what, Master?" 

"DO AS I SAY! I told you to watch John and he went a-running anyway!" Voldemort roared. As an after thought, as Madam Malica was huffing away, he muttered, "And don't you let me catch you with your ear pressed against the door, you silly cow ..."

"You tell her, Master!" Joeb blurted. 

There was a tense silence in which Voldemort stared queerly at him. Joeb studied the floor.

"Pick up a wand, Joeb," he said finally. 

"Can I learn the death curse?" Joeb said, "May I please just try to kill one of them?"

"Very well, boy. Very well. Ambitious fellow, aren't you?" Voldemort rolled up his sleeves. "Hold the wand like this, and with a swift, sort of violent flick forward, say the words. Understand?" 

"Yes, Master." 

"Who would you like to try it out on?"

This seemed to be a rather important decision to Joeb. He looked around at all of them, biting his mouth and breathing hard. "Er- the little girl. She- she's small, and looks-"

"-and looks easy to kill. Very good, boy, very good. Have you taken some kind of intelligence potion? You seem a great deal less dumb." Voldemort studied him strangely once more, then continued, "Come forward, Ginny, darling." 

Ginny flew forward involuntarily, the chains unlocking and falling to the floor, as if there were no invisible barriers, but Mr. and Mrs. Weasley could still not break through. 

_It's awful in here, where I'm trapped..._

George didn't give himself time to think. He lunged at his leg for the needle- it was tangled in his shoe-

"What are you doing?" Voldemort roared, raising Fred's wand. "_Avada-"_

Suddenly Joeb jumped forward, seizing Fred's neck in a headlock. Voldemort dropped the wand, stunned, choking-

Charlie's eyes flew open. He turned his head, saw what was happening, and sat up suddenly, the color surging back into his face. He crawled forward, reaching for Fred's wand- 

Voldemort, still in Joeb's grip, waved his hand at Bill, who abruptly came alive and pounced on top of Charlie while George watched, bewildered, still fighting with the needle. He could feel the sharp point stabbing into his foot. It seemed the more he tried to pull it the more it clung to the fibers of his sock. His head was going foggy from loss of blood, and it was drying in one eye- 

Bill was going for Charlie's neck- Charlie's muscles were bulging, straining to keep the hands away.

"George! Help him!" Joeb called. 

_It's filthy, it stinks, it hurts... I want to leave, Georgie.._

The needle came free. Fred's face was twisted in fury- he was bent over, trying to throw Joeb over his back, and Joeb was holding on for dear life. _. ._

George looked down at the needle- back up at Fred and Joeb- frozen.

_Please, Georgie. Kill him. Kill me..._

He stood, slipping a little in his own blood, fought off his dizziness, and charged forward at Voldemort. 

"GEORGE WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?" Joeb screamed. 

"_GEORGE NO_!" he heard is father call. He and his wife were throwing themselves against the barrier, trying desperately to get at them. 

Voldemort stood straight up when George came near, staring at him, a small smile on his lips. He sputtered, "I- won't- let him- live. Alone, George. Just- like- me.. _Just like me." _

George was standing nose to nose to Voldemort, looking straight into the eyes that once belonged to his twin. Joeb's hold was slipping. He had to do it soon- now-

"How's this for a fun game, Voldemort?" he said quietly.

Without pausing to take another breath he held the needle with both hands and plunged it into the center of Fred's stomach. 

A horrible noise filled the round black room. It was Voldemort, screaming, not with Fred's voice but with his own- the old one from his old body, a shrill hissing that stabbed at the ears. 

Suffocating orange smoke was pouring from Fred's wound, and as the smoke filled the air the scream changed- it was Voldemort and Fred, screeching in pain at the same time- their two voices together, earsplitting-

Then only Fred, moaning. 

"Don't anyone breathe!" Joeb shouted. 

Charlie managed to roll over on top of his brother and clapped his hands over Bill's mouth. The smoke began to collect in the middle of the room. George felt it pushing frantically at his nose and mouth, desperately to get in- to enter and take over- a high, cold, shrill laugh-

And then it was gone, just as quickly as it appeared. 

Bill fell lifeless in Charlie's grip. 

"Georgie-" said a tiny voice.

George gasped, looking down at his twin, laying on the floor, the needle still protruding from his stomach, his blood pouring out of the wound and onto the stone floor, mingling with his own. 

"Fred!" George dropped to his knees, his own stomach gnawing with pain, and took Fred's head into his arms "_Fred!" _

It was alright now. He could die. Fred could die. The rest of his family would live and be fine. He pulled the needle from the stomach of his twin, who was too weak to protest. George curled himself around Fred, pressed his face against Fred's cheek, put his hand over the wound, and shut his eyes, welcoming death now with open arms. At least he would die with his twin, in the presence of his family, without guilt. 

__

George rolled Fred on his side so that he could hold him closer, feeling his stomach become soaked with Fred's blood... 

So warm. 

So calm.

So dark.

.

__

The End. No, just kidding. Okay guys, don't make me beg for them. Alright, fine. Please Please Please, oh please please, if you have read this story, and this chapter, please review it. Is there someone out there who's reading and hasn't said anything? Well say it! I am review hungry. I am greedy for reviews. Gimme a smiley face or something. Anything. Tell me what you think. I personally think this could be a very lovely, sad ending... but there's another chapter. Do you want to read it? I want 200 more reviews or I'm not posting it. No, kidding again. . Oh yeah, and thank you thank you thank you to all of your support. 


	13. The Last Straw?

DISCLAIMER: See chapters one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, and twelve.

****

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THE LAST STRAW?

Fred?

George?

Where are we?

I don't know. 

Dead?

Perhaps. 

I didn't think it would be like this. 

Like what?

So red. 

I know... it's like when you first wake up, and the sunlight is shining through your eyelids. 

It is like that. Except I can't open my eyes. 

Did you try?

Yeah. My head hurts. 

Mine too. So does my belly. 

Mine too. 

George?

Fred?

Maybe if we hurt it means we aren't dead. 

Maybe. 

Try to open your eyes. 

I don't want to. I'm comfortable. 

Dead or not, you're free. 

Don't talk like that. **We **are free. 

We're free. 

George...

Fred?

My eyes are open.

Your eyes are open?

Yes, barely.

What do you see?

You.

Me?

Yes. 

You see me?

Yes. 

What am I doing?

Laying here.

Where?

I don't know.

You don't know?

No. Heaven, maybe? It's awfully blurry... your head is wrapped...

I have a wrap on my head?

You do.

Why?

I don't know. 

Unwrap me. 

I can't move.

Why not?

I hurt too much. What's happened?

You don't remember?

Not really. 

What do you remember?

Having a body again... and dying with you. 

I don't think we died, Freds. 

Whatever. It doesn't matter. Thank you, George. 

For what? 

For getting rid of Volde-

Now don't go saying his name. Even if we are dead... I don't ever want to hear that name again. 

Blimey, George. He's not Bloody Mary Queen of Death, or the bleedin' Candyman, or Kansas. He's not going to appear out of nowhere if you say his name three times. I just want to thank you for-

Kansas? What the hell is that suppose to mean?

You know, there's no place like home- click your heels three times? 

I think **you're** the one with the head injury. 

Damn it George, all I mean was that he's not going come waltzing into the room just because you say-

You're welcome, Fred. 

Voldemort.

Stop it!

Voldemort Voldemort Voldemort Vol-

Fred, I mean it! Knock it off! 

Sorry. Just don't be afraid.

God I missed you. 

I love you, George. 

You're getting all sappy again.

Well pardon me! This whole experience has been rather an emotional one, you know?

Tell me about it, git... Freds?

Yes George.

I love you too. 

******

"They said there wasn't anything left to be done for you," Charlie whispered to deaf ears. "So we brought you home, to live or to die. You're home, brother." 

Charlie sat, his skin burning, and took Bill's cold hand, bringing to his face, shutting his eyes, and sighing deeply. 

He would not let himself cry. 

"He's gone, Billyam... it's okay to come back." 

Bill's white eyes stared, unseeing, at the ceiling. Though his chest rose and fell, his skin still glowed orange. His jaw hung open, no tongue alive to wet his dry and cracked lips. 

"Come back, Bill. I know you're in there somewhere," Charlie pleaded, "I know you must be scared... but He's gone. He's right back where he started..."

Charlie flattened the cold, dry hand against his cheek. 

"Ron's going to be fine, Bill. And Fred and George- well, Fred and George will be fine, too, because they'll be together no matter what happens to them- and you are going to be fine, too, Billy." 

The colorless eyes blinked. 

"I'm sorry I yelled at you. Bill, please..." 

Charlie began to weep, crying all over Bill's cold hand. He chuckled miserably and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his robes. "Snotted all over you, Bill. Aren't you going to yell at me?" 

The colorless eyes blinked once more.

"Funerals are tomorrow, for John and Quentin. John killed himself... he was nice enough to go back home to do it... wasn't that considerate of him, Bill? So we didn't have to come home from the hospital just now and find his body?" Charlie choked back a sob that was threatening to escape. It gnawed at his chest. 

The eyes blinked.

"How much do you remember of Uncle John and Aunt Marie? I don't remember anything, really. But Mum says we were sent there when she was pregnant with Fred and George, cause she was on bed rest for awhile... remember when you beat me up? I think that was at Uncle John and Aunt Marie's, cause I remember you shoving my face in hay. Remember that? You were so mad- I pushed you into a big pile of cow shit, remember, Bill? I didn't know it was cow shit... I just thought it would be funny to see you sitting in it. And you beat me up, Bill. It was the first and only time, because I got bigger than you. Percy toddled in and went and told on us for fighting- remember how he could barely talk, but he always managed to tattle? You and I used to joke, Bill, when we were really young, about how we were liberated- remember that? We were liberated from Percy's watchful eye, after the twins got old enough to walk and talk..." 

Charlie put Bill's cold, dry hand over his eyes and allowed himself a single, barely audible sob.   
"Don't get me wrong, Bill. I love the guy. He's Percy, you know? And he's calming down, wouldn't you say, Bill?" 

Charlie quietly studied Bill's hand for a long moment. 

"Yeah, Aunt Marie died a long time ago. I remember when Mum told us... you were teaching me how to play chess... and I remember I didn't care much that she was dead. Well, I suppose it's not that I didn't care... it's that I didn't remember her, so how could I be sad over her death? Can you imagine how horrible to must have been for Uncle John, Bill? Then he was left with a Squib for a son... You went right on teaching me how to play chess, and we played all day long, but I heard you crying that night, Bill, because you remembered her. She must have been a nice lady, Bill. I stayed up and listened to you cry, trying so hard to keep quiet so you didn't upset your little brothers... you were always stronger than me. I don't know if I could be strong for everyone if something happened to you. I don't want to be the oldest, Bill. You're better at it."

The white eyes blinked, Bill's chest rising and falling, rising and falling. 

"I know you aren't dead, Bill. I wish I could jumped into your head and fight off whatever poison of His that's keeping you sick, Bill, but I can't. That's your department, Bill. I can only deal with solid things. Dragons are solid. Fred and George were solid. You were solid. I'll drag you around for the rest of my life, Bill, just the way you are, and I'll force feed you and wipe your ass if I have to, but I'd rather you got better. Be alive, Bill. You're strong, Bill. Don't let His hold on you last forever." 

Charlie waited. 

After a long time, he wipe his eyes, replaced Bill's hand, and left the room. 

He came into the kitchen to see Percy destroying the room further, if that was possible. For a moment Charlie stood fascinated by this uncharacteristic fit of rage. He watched Percy tear the leg off the overturned dining room table and bash it against the counter until it was wood chippings. He approached the charred books on the mantel and shoved them off onto the floor in one swipe, then stomped on them with such fury that Charlie nearly laughed, despite himself. 

"Perce! What's wrong?" 

"He got away! The _LITTLE BASTARD _got away!" Percy roared, putting his foot thought the icebox.

"Hey now, calm down," said Charlie, grabbing Percy by the elbows, "who's gotten away?" 

"The boy!" Percy growled, breaking free from his brother and attempting to tear the icebox door off its hinges. 

"Percy, don't make me sedate you. Just tell me what _else _you're so upset about." 

Percy stopped his fit dead, sucked in a breath, and held it until he was blue. When he finally exhaled, he seemed to be very slightly calmed. "The Little Death-Eater in training. Mini-Voldemort. How do you think I knew where you guys were? I practically had to slit his throat to get him to spill. Then I was in such a rush to get to Diagon Alley that I forgot the spell wears off! _I AM SO FUCKING STUPID_!" 

Percy began to thrash about. Charlie caught him and held him firmly. 

"Stop," he said into his brother's ear. "He's gone. There is nothing you can do. He was one of many Death-Eaters. It doesn't matter."

Percy tried to break free, grumbling under his breath. 

"Perce..." 

Percy went limp. He sobbed, exhausted, into Charlie's shoulder. "Good God Charlie, what if the twins-"

"-they won't, Perce. Don't start talking like that." 

"What if Bill-"

"-he'll be fine. Ron will be fine. We'll all be _just fine._" Charlie held Percy for a long time, rigid- faced, telling himself that crying, too, would only make it worse. 

He wished he could believe his own words. 

************

His stomach ached and burned. 

George felt hands shaking him. His heart sank. It had all been a sweet, delirious dream, upon a nightmare upon another nightmare. Voldemort had just killed Charlie and wanted him to get up...

_I won't get up, _thought George bitterly,_ I'm not brave, and my family isn't big or happy anymore. I'm nothing you hate. Leave me alone to die-_

"Georgie! Wake up!" 

George's eyes flew open. Voldemort was lying next to him, smiling so happily, so sweetly it was unbelievable - George sat up and stared at him. He leapt from the bed and was overcome by dizziness, his head pounding. He clamped his eyes shut and ran into a wall. It was warm wall that was closing tightly around him, lifting him off the floor. 

"Please just leave me alone!" George moaned. 

"George, it's me!" said a voice that sounded like Charlie. "It's us!" 

George buried his face in the warmth. The wall, decidedly arms, held him tighter. "What's happening? What are you going to do to me now!" 

"You're home, George. Open your eyes. Don't be afraid, it's just us."

He was sitting on the bed again. He vowed not to open his eyes. He didn't want to see. He could not stand to look at Voldemort one more time. 

"Georgie, it's al-"  
"-STOP CALLING ME THAT!" 

"George, it's me!" 

George felt a warm hand on his arm. 

Warm. 

He opened his eyes and saw his brother. He saw Fred. Only Fred. But could he possibly believe it? He rubbed his eyes and looked again, and Fred was still smiling up at him.

"Fred?"

Fred nodded. 

For a long moment George could only stare, his entire body trembling. Fat tears rolled down his cheeks. An incredible warmth filled in the freezing, hollow space of his body. 

Fred's eyes, moist, hoping desperately for recognition. 

Fred's eyes. 

Nothing else. 

Only Fred.

"_Oh God FRED_!" George's blood surged. He grabbed Fred around the neck- felt his familiar face- and sobbed. He could hear Fred underneath him, shaking too, sobbing too... for a few minutes they could only cry silently, together, for each other, for themselves, for their family, for Quentin, and for what had happened. George didn't think he could ever hold Fred tight enough, and cried for fear of having to let him go. 

"I'm not going anywhere, George. I can't," Fred gasped, and George laughed into his brother's hair and squeezed him tighter. "Let go now, you're hurting my belly." 

"Your hair stinks. You need to wash it." George told him, feeling ecstatically drunk. He let Fred have his head and neck back, but kept his hand. He looked down at his twin, who smiled up at him. George bounced up and down on the bed, laughing giddily.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Georgie." said another voice.

George looked passed Fred for the first time and saw Percy, squinting at him. 

He was sitting in a chair next to the bed, Charlie beside him. They had dark bags under their eyes, looking as though they hadn't slept in days, but were beaming all the same. 

George gaped at them, then back at Fred, and couldn't help but hop up and down a little more. A pain shot through his already sore stomach, and he smiled widely. "You hurt, Fred!" 

Fred pursed his lips, putting a protective hand on the bandages that layered his stomach. "I do, no thanks to _you._ Stop shaking the bed!" 

George nearly dove on him, but restrained himself. Instead he hopped up and down a little more, feeling the ache in his middle sharpen. "Fred! You hurt bad! I could _kiss _you!" 

"Please don't. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm _extremely _happy to see you, but-"

"Oh, leave off!" George lay back down, hugging Fred's arm. 

"Perhaps a _bit _of a snog later, but right now I'm in quite a bit of pain-"

"Oh shut it. You know what I meant. I'm just glad you're not..." George was too happy, he didn't want to ruin it by finishing his thought.

Oh, the joy that flooded over him! He felt as if he'd come in out of a blizzard and someone had sat him near a fire and given him a gigantic gulp of firewater. That jittery feeling, the uneasy sensation of having forgotten something important, the cold that had made permanent goose-bumps on his neck, was gone. Fred was next to him, George had a hold of him, and all felt well. 

"How long have we been out, Perce?" asked Fred a little weakly, his eyes closing.

"Nearly a week," he replied, wiping his red-rimmed eyes.

"Aw, Perce. How sweet!" 

"I'm not crying!" Percy insisted, "My eyes are strained. I broke my glasses beyond repair."

"_Sure_," George poked. 

Percy ruffled and huffed, but smiled, wiped his eyes again, and said nothing.

"_You _broke your glasses? But I saw-"

"They sell Polyjuice at Diagon Alley, you know."

"Bloody brilliant," complimented George.

"Thank you. You owe me two galleons- and new pair of glasses."

George grunted in agreement. "Charlie?"

"Yeah, kid." 

"Not that I'm complaining, but... how come you're alive?" 

Charlie smirked, flexing his rather large bicep. "I'm a Dragon-Keeper. Got to have _lightening _fast reflexes. We're trained to act dead at the colony. It's best if the dragons think you've already died, if they go on a rampage."

Percy snorted and rolled his eyes. "He was so scared of Voldemort that he fell off the bed and knocked himself out cold." 

"Shut up, crybaby." Charlie knocked him on the shoulder. He turned back to George and shrugged. "The curse just missed my nose. So I like I said, I played dead."

Percy loudly cleared his throat.

Charlie gave them a crooked smiled, "...when I regained consciousness, of course." 

"Voldemort was so busy trying to stop you from hearing me that he didn't notice the curse missed," mumbled Fred, his eyes still shut. 

George flinched. "I don't ever want to hear that name again. He knew that we-?" 

Fred nodded, yawning.

"He could hear us? The whole time?"

"No, but he could _feel _that we were talking. I don't want to talk about it. It doesn't matter. He's right back where he started now. I'll tell you how awful it was some other time." All the talking seemed to exhaust Fred. He sighed heavily, his eyelids drooping.

"You brought it up!" said George playfully. "And _I'll_ tell _you_ how awful it was some other time, too." 

"_Merlin's Beard_, am I tired." 

"I'm too happy to be tired!" 

"Ah, well, you didn't get an enormous sharp something-rather in the belly, did you?" Fred pretended to be irritated, but gave George's arm a squeeze. "_And _I've got _your _bleedin' headache!" 

"I'll get you something for it, Freds," Percy offered. 

Fred didn't answer. He was already asleep. 

"George," Charlie said. 

Just his tone had already caused George to feel slightly disquieted. He didn't like the way his elder brother was scratching his arm and avoiding his gaze.

"What's wrong?" 

Charlie gave Percy a sideways glance. Percy's face was unreadable, as it was bunched up in a squint. 

_...before he rots away from the inside out..._

"Bill!" George moaned. "Don't tell me-!" 

"He's alive, George, calm down," Charlie assured him, his face reflecting great restraint, "but you should see him as soon as possible." 

"But not right now!" Percy said firmly as George was making a move to sit, "You did quite a number on your head. You are to stay in bed and not move."

"Ron-"

"Ron is fine," said Charlie, "Mum and Dad are with him now at St. Mungo's. He's awake and recovering." 

"Bill, however," added Percy, his voice cracking slightly, "Bill they sent home. Said there wasn't anything else they could do for him." 

"_But," _Charlie said to Percy, "That's exactly what they said about the twins, and the twins, obviously, are going to be just fine. Bill's going to be fine. " 

Neither one of them looked very convinced. 

George tried not to think about any of it. It was easy, with Fred next to him. He slept quite heavily. 

************

A week later Bill's chest was still rising and falling, but there was no change. The twins crept into his bedroom that night, Fred leaning heavily on George. 

It hurt very much to look at him. Their eldest brother was a sad sight. He was undressed save a thin sheet thrown around his middle. His burned scalp had been wrapped in gauze, creating an absurd looking turban on his head. His body was gleaming with sweat, and despite Charlie feeding him regularly, he had lost a great deal more weight. George could see his ribs individually. His skin no longer glowed, in and out, in and out, but was orange steadily, as if Bill had some exotic form of jaundice. The ten gashes on either arm had become bright scars. 

Charlie was finally sleeping, though uncomfortably it seemed, in a chair next to Bill's bed. His head was thrown back and he snored quietly. 

"What's wrong with him?" George whispered, helping Fred to sit on the bed. "Why is Ron getting better while Bill is..." He couldn't finish.

Fred stared at Bill, shaking his head, his lower lip quivering. In a weak voice he said, "Voldemort cursed Ron, and Voldemort is gone... for now... so his magic has no hold. But I did this, George. _I _did this." 

"You couldn't have."

"I was so angry, George. We were both there at the time. Me and Voldemort. Together. I wanted to hurt Bill for trying to make me feel better. I wanted him to feel what I was feeling. I broke his skin, and a little of what was festering inside me, I gave to him. Voldemort gave me the power, George, but I did this to Bill." 

Fred let out a tiny moan, putting a trembling hand over his mouth. He rubbed the still-bandaged wound on his stomach with the other arm.

George put his hand on his twin's shoulder. "Don't cry, Fred. We'll fix it." 

"_How _can we fix it?" Fred moaned, "I don't even know what I did!" 

Silence. 

"I don't know," George said hollowly. "I don't know. I wish we could just- flush it out somehow." 

There was a bowl of water on the nightstand next to the bed. Fred wrung out the rag swimming in it, and gently began to wipe the sweat from Bill's face. 

The white, blind eyes blinked. 

In unison, twin faces broke into identical grins. 

Fred looked at George. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" 

"Of course," George replied, "But surely it wouldn't-" 

"-go on, then." 

George ran from the room. 

Not five minutes later he sat on one side of Bill, Fred on the other. In George's hand, a little piece of red candy, innocent looking and smelling sweetly of strawberries. 

"I hope this works," George whispered. 

"It won't hurt."

"We'll get in a lot of trouble if it doesn't, but we've got to try it."

"It's going to work, George. Now shut up and put it in his mouth." 

George did as he was told, and they waited. 

Minutes passed.

A gurgle emerge from Bill's throat. A watery orange liquid began to trickle from his ears. He coughed, sending a spray of the liquid across his chest and the white sheet. It gushed out his eyes- which were blinking madly- he sneezed and more of the orange liquid came pouring out from every hole in his face. 

The twins stood back. 

Bill sat up and turned a ghostly shade of white as he choked up the bright orange liquid. As it poured out, Fred and George could see his pupils returning- the brown of his eyes-

"What the fu-" Bill croaked, spitting up another gallon or so.

He sat up suddenly, causing the twins to jump and recoil. 

Bill looked down at himself, sitting in an inch of orange liquid, then at the twins, and suddenly looked very angry. "What the hell are you two doing! Trying to see if you'd gotten the fake blood to thicken, were you? You think this is funny?" 

Charlie jerked awake and his jaw dropped. "William!" 

"Why am I naked, anyway? Did you put them up to this?" Bill demanded, "Ah, this is very funny... look at me... soaking wet..."

He continued to complain under his breath as he threw the sheet aside. Soon all the orange was gone, and just a pale red, the color of diluted blood, was gushing from his nose and ears. 

Fred and George sniggered, using every ounce of self control not to laugh. 

"Well, damn it, Charlie," Bill spat, "Don't just stand there checking out my willy! Get me something dry, will you? Perhaps a towel... ah, twinsies... damn you... it's not so funny on this end!" 

Charlie and George lost it. Their laughter echoed off the walls. Fred had dropped to the floor, rolling around, writhing in pain, and chuckling with joy. Bill only stared irritably at them. 

"It's still too watery, Georgie!" Fred laughed.

George winced. "Freds?"

"Hmm?" 

"Please don't ever call me that again." 

The family ghoul could be heard upstairs in the attic, abandoning it's chains and howling in misery.

THE END

__

Like I said on my review page... sorry it took so long, and I was just kidding about the 200 more reviews... come on now, I wouldn't do that! I still want more, however. :) 

Okay, it's true. I am too big of a weenie to kill any of the Weasleys. Not even one. At least not in this story, probably because I tortured them so much... I thought they deserved a happy ending, and besides, I planned it that way. Thank you millions and millions to all of my readers... special thanks to Rocky and Animagus-Steph... 

I hope none of you are disappointed. Please review, and watch for my other fics, coming soon! Also watch for the revised edition of "Undone." Thanks again! 


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